Day by Day & Stone by Stone
by Secunda Valeria
Summary: A multi-chaptered story how Tom Branson and Mary Crawley fell in love, picked up the pieces, after the deaths of their first loves, and built a life and family together. This story is a prequel to the series of short stories previously produced.
1. Chapter 1

**Day by Day & Stone by Stone**

**Chapter One**

The best loves are built slowly. Both people hardly noticing how drawn to one another they have become until something happens to change their reality. That instead of muddling through life separate, they bond, to face the uncertainties of the future together. Much like a house made of stone, each rock carefully considered, set in its place with due consideration, by two sets of hands working unknown to the other, until the day of completion when they finally meet as the last stone is trimmed and fitted. So it was that Tom Branson and Mary Crawley built their love stone by stone, and day by day.

Their story starts in the nursery, though they hardly knew what would happen to them. It was a few weeks after Tom became the Godfather to George that one can say their story truly begins. Tom was feeding the baby as his daughter Sybil played with the building blocks in the middle of the floor. He sighed wistfully, fighting down the weight in his heart as he missed his wife for the uncountable time.

But baby George would hear none of it. As Tom held the bottle the baby reached up, grasped Tom's nose and pulled.

"Hey there partner." Tom took the bottle away. George smiled just the way his father had done. One side of his mouth turned up as if to wink, his eyes betraying an active mind.

"Papa look!" Sybbie stood up from the blocks she had arranged in color order, the blue ones next to blues, red to reds, and so on.

"That's wonderful darling!"

Nanny stepped in from the other room where she had been folding sheets. She looked at Tom with an expression of embarrassment, surprise, and frustration. "Oh My Lord, he's finished his bottle that one? Already now?"

Tom turned George up to his shoulder and started patting the boy's back. He smiled at the flustered woman, "Don't go promoting me now."

The woman dropped her eyes as she realized her mistake. "Oh my pardon Mr. Branson, I'm fairly overwhelmed between feeding schedules, and the other chores."

"How many today?" Tom squinted as if he already knew the answer.

The woman hesitated. "Well…" she shifted from foot to foot nervously.

"Don't answer, I know," Tom sighed, "All of them."

Nanny bowed her head. "It's not my place to say anything."

The conversation sputtered to an uncomfortable silence until Sybbie's laughter filled the room as she scrambled and kicked the blocks to start over rearranging them.

Tom's face reflected his relief, as if glad for the interruption his daughter provided. He continued patting George's back, just as he had Sybbie's when she was his age, until the boy released a long rumbling burp that made Tom laugh. He checked his shoulder just to make sure that George had lost none of his meal.

Hearing Tom, seeing his godfather, George joined in the fun. Tom held the little boy in front of him as they both laughed.

Tom made a face, blowing a raspberry into George's stomach that made the little boy laugh harder. He kicked and danced in Tom's hands. "Whoa there you little prince." Tom gripped George tighter as the baby kicked, bounced, and batted.

"He's such a happy baby." Nanny smiled, preparing George's crib. "You're such a good 'burper' sir." She turned to take George from Tom.

"He should have his mother here." Tom looked out the window to see Mary crossing the drive in a wandering and aimless gait.

Nanny saw Mary as well. She turned to Tom, worried. "Oh no, she'll want to hold him. He won't nap and he'll be cranky later. He needs a set schedule of feedings, and sleep."

Tom winked. "Then we call in the cavalry." He looked down to his daughter. "Sybbie darling, can you show George how to take a nap? Would you do that for me pet? Pretend to go to sleep so Geory gets the idea?"

He turned back to Nanny to explain. "Lady Mary will be reluctant to wake Sybbie."

"Okay Papa." Sybbie went to her own day bed next to George's crib. "Geory, we night-night now." She slipped into her own bed and turned her eyes to George's.

The baby did not stop fussing until Tom wrapped him up, hugging him and gently kissing the top of his head. "That's a boy." He patted George. "Not a word now." He stroked the baby's stomach. George's eyes grew heavier, fighting sleep but succumbing to the inevitable a few minutes later.

Mary stepped into the nursery then. She did not acknowledge Nanny or Tom.

Sybbie sang a gibberish about Angels, babies, sleep, and Tom knew not what else. "Hush now my darling." He bent low kissed her forehead.

Mary walked up to the crib, picked George up and held him in her arms. Startled, the baby let go a howl of indignation and protest. He reached for Tom, as if his godfather could protect him from alien hands.

Mary turned to Tom with a look of haughty surprise. "It's as if he doesn't know me. This is you. You're always up here, around him. Small wonder he hardly knows me." She thrust George into Tom's hands. The baby cried, calming down only when Tom rocked him back and forth. He glanced to Nanny. "Would you take the child please?" He met Mary's stare with his own look of anger. Tom delicately handed George to nanny. The woman carefully rocked George in her arms as Tom lay a gentle hand over the boy. "Someday my little prince, I'll tell you all about your father and I'll always be here for you." Tom bent, kissed George again. He faced Mary. "Now kiss your son, and follow me."

"You do not tell me…"

"As a parent I do." Tom snapped.

A few seconds later Mary joined Tom in the hall. Tom had visibly simmered down from its high yet his anger still rolled.

He saw his sister in law as if she had just buried Matthew all over again. "Mary my sympathy for you is limitless." He spread his arms and dropped them. "My empathy for you is as deep as that well at the world's end in that Morris novel." He stepped close to her. "But it's been six months Mary. George needs a mother, not a nanny. He needs you. You need to spend more time with him."

Mary glared at Tom. "He also needs a father and every time I look at him I see Matthew." She bowed her head and looked away wagging a finger in the process. "We've become good friends, Tom Branson, these past two years. Do not presume to tell me how to be a mother. I am still missing Matthew. You know that."

"Mary why is your son uncomfortable in your own arms?" Tom declared rather than asked. "He barely knows your smell, the smoothness of your hands and arms, the feel of your skin. That's why he cries when you hold him. You're unfamiliar to him." Tom checked the hallway for family or staff. "Oh why not? I'm in trouble with you already Mary so I'll go all in: As Geory's Godfather I'm telling you that he needs you in his life more than you've been, and as Matthew's Best Man I'm saying to you Matthew would expect you to overcome your sorrow, to focus on your son, and buck up."

Mary's slapped Tom with her open palm. "How dare you!"

Tom rubbed his cheek. "It's true. High time someone told you; you're failing George. God, do you honestly think I see only me in the eyes of Sybbie? Do you know how much that hurts?"

She raised her hand to strike him again.

Tom caught her wrist wrestling it back down to her side. "I go to Sybbie. To spend time with her, I see him, looking at me with those eyes that only two people I know so well and admire so much could create. He watches how Sybbie and I laugh, how we cuddle, and it breaks my heart to see him left alone, consigned to watching love, instead of getting it. So yes, I spend time with him because you do not."

Mary struggled but Tom held her fast. She twisted, shook, but could not writhe out of his grip. "Are you going to release my hands?" She hissed.

"If you promise not to hit me," Tom growled.

Mary grunted.

"Promise." Tom hissed.

"Alright." Mary stopped struggling. She squinted. She dropped her head as if defeated. She shook her head from side to side, and, as if she turned a corner, she cracked. She opened and closed her hands, she squinted, twisting her face to keep her tears at bay but it was no use. She choked out a sob.

He acted instinctively, the way he had when Sybil's grief over the way her father treated their marriage became too much for her. He did the only thing he knew how to do.

He folded Mary into his arms.

Tom felt her tears as they soaked his cheek. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he stroked her hair. He looked like he felt he should say something, that he should finish her statement, '_that she felt adrift without Matthew' _perhaps. He could have said all these things. Adding that he knew she was ashamed of deserting George, she was afraid of a life alone, and that she didn't want to wear black for the rest of her life.

He could have said all these things. Instead he just held her, letting her weep.

Her muffled sobs racked her body. "Cry it out." Tom whispered as he stood like an oak as she collapsed deeper into his arms.

Anna Bates was passing down the hall. Tom nodded to an unused guest bedroom. Anna opened the room. He led Mary in where she filled the space with wails and cries. Anna laid a hand on Mary's shoulder. There are times when there is no social distance between a lady and maid.

Tom looked at Anna. "I'll keep everyone away from the hall. Would you take Lady Mary to her room? I don't want anyone seeing her like this."

"Yes Sir."

"Anna, you can call me Tom."

"Yes sir."

Anna tried to move Mary but she would not budge. Tom tried to release her but Mary kept her hands tightly wrapped around his neck.

After a good deal of prompting and prying Mary released him, she reached up to caress his cheek where she had struck him. "What have I done?" Her eyes reflected sorrow.

Tom smiled, "You do pack a wallop – I grant you that." Tom winced while rubbing his jaw and cheek.

"I'm so sorry." Mary caressed his face much in the same way Sybil had done.

Tom cast his eyes down. For the second time in an hour he was reminded of Sybil and how badly he wanted to hold her again. He lifted his head. "Mary, I understand."

Anna walked with Mary down the hall. They stopped mid-way where Mary turned around, walked back to Tom and touched him on the shoulder. "I'm so sorry Tom."

Tom shook his head as if to dismiss her concern. "I understand. I used to hit a punching bag for hours after Sybil died. It's still in the stables if you'd like to borrow it."

"Does it end?" She asked.

Tom sighed. He asked for no clarification. He would know what the 'it' was: the hurt that spoils the ability to live life fully. "The best I've been able to do is hope that it dulls to a point I can live with her loss. What keeps me looking and moving forward is Sybbie."

She walked down the hall again turning back to smile at him one more time. Tom rubbed his cheek lightly. A serene smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he stepped down the hall to his office. He periodically touched his cheek where Mary had struck him. He smiled every time.

##


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Ever since Sybil died Grandmamma always referred to Tom as her favorite grandson.

"I'm your only grandson, and an in-law at that." Tom sipped his tea. He sat across from Violet in the sitting room of the Dower house.

Granny set her cup down. "Nevertheless it happens to be true. Grandparents aren't supposed to have favorites. I tried hard not to reveal that your wife was mine. Now you have inherited that distinction for good or ill so get used to it." She reached for a shortbread cookie. "Would you try one? They're delicious." She offered the plate.

"Yes my lady." Tom took one.

"Call me Grandmamma for heaven's sake."

"Yes my lady." Tom grinned.

"Oh you're incorrigible. Republicans are supposed to be glad to rid society of title and class are they not?" Violet bit into another cookie washing it down with tea.

Tom set his tea down, spread his hands to apologize. "I would have brought Sybbie with me but I came from the other end of the estate. I needed to visit the Lower House Farm. Shall I bring Sybbie around tomorrow?"

Violet set her face placing her cup and saucer on the table, "As much as I adore that little angel that is not why I invited you."

Tom braced. He had first seen her do that soon after coming to Downton. When the Dowager Lady Grantham positioned her cup in such a precise manner it portended a request, a demand, or an order that did not have to be obeyed but should be if the receiver knew what was good for him. Besides, he liked the old bird's wit, usually it meant she was about to say something that would make him cringe, or laugh. But that was part of why he liked her, she was entirely unpredictable.

She had adopted him. She took it upon herself to take over for what his wife had done, refine his courser edges coaching him in the art of dinner time repartee. While she taught him, Tom lavished her with tales of Sybil's adaptation to life in Dublin, the home she made for them, her work as a nurse. He liked to think Violet's hurt had been assuaged by the knowledge that her granddaughter had been happier in Dublin than she could have hoped.

The result was an unlikely friendship that grew between the two, as well as entertaining dinner conversation. Violet gave him a quick once over. "How are your spying skills? Surely you picked up something useful being so close to revolutionaries?"

"I know how to be quiet, watch, listen, smell, and look stupid." He answered.

Violet laughed. "Oh Tom." She coughed. "I hardly agree. The way you insulted Sir Francis at dinner last month was so subtle it took him a week to realize it." She looked away as if the image of the man turned her stomach. "I never have liked that fop."

He laughed with her. Tom reflected a moment longer. "The secret is to make it look like you're not looking."

"Precisely, how much do we know of Lord William of Flintshire?"

Tom had seen that suspicious frown before. The woman was like a prize fighter who didn't like to step into any boxing ring without sizing up the opposition. "Well, my lady, you'd know more than I."

Violet refreshed tea. "Debrett's lists the family as seated at Foxmound with history from Clinton in America to Gordon at Khartoum. He carries on like he's worth millions but there's a quality that makes me doubt him."

"You want to know about the liabilities?"

"Tom dear, half of being an aristocrat is keeping family scandal secret and estates solvent. While Debrett's lists titles, lineage and honors they never mention scandal." Violet sipped her tea.

"Why not have Murray in London hire a private inspector?"

"I don't want your father in law to know. Murray will not keep my inquiry private. You've heard my son. The man idolizes Lord William. He believes the man to be a saint, a suitable husband for Mary." Violet leaned forward. "Mary is very rich now Tom. She's open season for every fortune hunter in search of a way to save the family jewels, even if it is at the expense of a wife's inheritance, and her heir's birthright." She emphasized her next words as if Tom were a knight sworn to champion his Lady. "We both know that in Mary's present state she is quite vulnerable."

Tom folded his hands. "I like Mary, I wouldn't her to be used or hurt." He nodded at Violet. "Alright then, so what do you want from me?"

"Oh not much a discreet inquiry is all." Violet waved a hand languidly. "Nothing expansive, just verify his war record, his assets, holdings, debts, liabilities, and any particular vices he has that he wants kept secret such as an addiction to gambling, the dogs, horses, or hunts."

Tom coughed. "That's enough work to keep me busy for weeks. Why not just tell Mary to keep an eye out?"

"There are things about Mary you do not know. She can be incredibly reckless at times." Violet raised an eyebrow.

"Like the episode involving a Turkish envoy named Pamuk?" Tom asked.

Violet recoiled.

"Don't be shocked." Tom held up his hand. "If Sybil knew she never told me. It's not well known among the staff either. Only two know, plus me, and whoever else in the family. Not to worry."

"Who?" Violet asked.

"Now you know I'll never break a confidence." Tom said sympathetically.

Violet appeared relieved. "Oh my boy, to think I tried talking Sybil out of marrying you."

Tom laughed. Violet smiled at him as if she knew all along he would comply with her request. "Now young man, come sit next to me so that we can talk about your wife and miss her together.

#

Tom started his inquiry into Lord William with Debrett's. Carson questioned why he wanted his prized possession so Tom told the Butler he needed it for research into a potential business opportunity for the estate. As Granny had said, the book revealed little.

Next he wrote the following on a blank sheet of paper:

'_Who would know…_

_...where Lord William vacations?_

_...Service in the War?_

_...Clubs the man liked?_

_...Debts?_

_...Vices?_

For these questions he used the telephone in his office and the pretext of a writer working on a biographical review of Lord William. The doorman at the India Club in London referred Tom to a favorite cabbie when Lord William was in town. This piqued his interest so he called his brother. Kieran knew an automobile dealer there who could find the cabbie and ask a question or two. If this led anywhere Tom resolved to call in McRyan. He didn't want to but reasoned that if Lord William was hiding something his old contact would be able to ferret it out. After what Tom did for McRyan in Dublin, the man owed him.

Since there was nothing else to do he went upstairs to change for dinner. Afterward he caught up with Mary in the nursery before they went downstairs. They took the time to sip an imaginary tea from a child's play set. Mary sat opposite him; Sybbie sat between them playing out the tea. Tom fought down a dark feeling as if he were missing his Sybil that she should be sitting where Mary was. The same could have been said of Mary. They sat opposite the other like two shipwrecked passengers tossed about on an angry sea separated in different lifeboats.

Tom watched proudly as his daughter used both hands the way Mary had taught her. Tom studied Mary his face reflecting guilt. He swept his eyes around the table.

Mary saw the look on Tom's face. "Your daughter is a wonderful hostess." She furrowed her brow as if she understood the man across the table from her and the confusions he felt.

Tom dropped his head quickly. He'd never known her eyes to sparkle that way. Her eyes reflected the first happiness he'd seen from her in weeks. He turned his head to his daughter.

Mary followed. "My dear. Your tea has been delightful." She beamed as if Sybbie were her own. "Tom you should be proud." She lifted a miniature tea cup to her lips.

"Oh I am." Tom reached out to tickle Sybbie.

"No Papa." The little girl giggled.

Mary folded her hands. "Well my darling I'm going to check on your cousin now. Thank you for the wonderful tea." She leaned down to kiss Sybbie who kissed her aunt back with a joyous laugh.

Tom stood up as Mary left the table. He excused himself hugging his daughter and letting her know he would return later to tuck her in. When he stepped into the hall Mary was waiting for him.

"Are you alright?" She frowned.

"I'm fine, just tired. It's been a long day." He lied.

"What did you see Granny about this afternoon?" She spread a light shawl around her shoulders as they walked to the top of the stairs.

Tom brushed his nose. "Oh we discussed you. How you're coping, reminisced over Sybil, Matthew. Then we both had a good cry."

Mary tilted her head ruefully.

Tom surrendered. "Well I did anyway."

"I was going to say, Granny weeping. If she ever does she lets no one see."

"Well, I like her. Talking about Sybil helps. You should try it sometime."

As she went down the steps Mary asked Tom who was she to confide to? "I'm not on the best of terms with Edith you know."

"What about Anna, your mother, father?" Tom paused. "Me?"

Mary stopped on the staircase. She sat down on the carpeted step running a hand over her forehead. "I feel so hollow Tom. It's as if I am in a bad play. I have a role to play: the dutiful widow respectfully titled forging on as life marches by. Do I resign myself to a solitary existence, or take the chance on remarrying, being less than happy?"

Tom sat next to her. "I can't see myself ever remarrying." He sighed.

"That's not true. Sybil would want you to be happy."

When Tom did not answer she continued. "It's different though for women. If I don't remarry soon I shall be a widow for life."

Tom avoided looking at her. "You make the best decision for you, then George. Matthew would want it that way. He'd be the first to say that you can't be a good parent to the boy without being happy yourself. Don't forget Matthew would never be jealous of anyone you choose."

Mary shrugged her shoulders. She looked off into the distance. "Yes, he would say something like that." She rose.

Tom got up with her. "Don't think you need to marry for money. The estate will be fine. Cash may be tight now but we'll do what we need to grow our businesses. I guarantee that." Tom smiled this time gazing into her eyes.

She studied him. "The only thing I have to worry about if I ever remarry is he marrying me for me or to get you to work for him?" She demurred.

"Don't worry, it would be for you. Not some hot headed mick with a bad attitude about the aristocracy." Tom only half joked.

Mary giggled. "Matthew always admired how you undersold yourself." She caught herself touching the edges of her mouth. "My god, that's the first time I've been able to laugh in months."

"Good, it shows there's still Mary in there." He pointed to her head as they stepped into the dining room together.

##


	3. Chapter 3

Mary knocked on the library door as her father and Tom argued above a map of the estate. One look at Tom told her Lord Grantham was being difficult again. "I'd like to speak with you Papa about my money." The room was darkened lit by the fire in the hearth, Robert's desk lamp and the reading lamps over the leather chairs in the corner nearest the bookshelves. Even in the low light Mary read the look of consternation on her father's face.

"Oh that's alright. Tom and I were just finishing up." Robert scanned the map.

Tom sighed. "No we're not just finishing up my lord." He pointed to the map of farmland closest to the Nidd River. Robert turned to Mary. "Tom seems to think that we can successfully grow lucerne in Yorkshire." He downed the last of his whiskey.

Tom's face betrayed to Mary the frustrations Matthew had had to endure. "Tom told me about it. I think it's a fine idea."

"The climate won't support it." Robert scoffed.

"It will tolerate the climate and will love the limestone in the soil." Tom added.

Mary addressed her father. "Tom's worked hard for this Papa. Can't you see the benefits of growing the crop?"

"Well the income projections are exciting." Robert conceded. He rubbed his chin. "I'll give you my answer in the morning. Since you're ganging up on me I suppose I'll agree. But tomorrow, all right?"

Tom began rolling up the map, gathering his papers. "Thank you my lord." Mary stopped him with a touch of his arm. "Stay Tom?" She asked him. "Please?" Her voice betrayed trepidation.

He set his papers down.

Mary turned to her father. "I'd like Tom's opinion on the matter too."

"My dear, what is it?" Robert led Tom and Mary to the fireplace.

"I've been reading over Matthew's stock holdings Papa. I've decided to sell Cunard. I want to transfer the money to Ford Motors in America and Hawker Aircraft here." She stood while Tom sat on the settee.

Tom sipped his whiskey studying Mary.

Robert leaned to Mary. "I don't like to go against your wishes, but Murray's man in The City thinks Ford will be consumed by Chrysler one day, as for the possibility of civilian aviation? Why his answers to my inquiries have been met only by laughter." He glanced at Tom, "The only practical application of the airplane is military and all nations are soon to sign limitation treaties."

Tom raised his hand in protest. "I should stay out of this."

Mary turned to Tom. "Oh you've the keenest mind for these things as any of us." She faced her father. "Shall you call Murray or should I?"

"My dear, why don't you take some time to think this through?"

"I already have." She looked at Tom, "You know how many more cars there are on the roads tell him."

Tom mulled a bit then looked up to his father in law. "She's right. Kieran's had to take on two new mechanics he's that busy. More people are buying autos my lord."

Robert turned to face the fire in the hearth, "Hardly a ringing endorsement."

"I think Mary's right." Tom pointed to Robert. "Ford Lorries are well built. Most equipment tows use them. Lord Mountbatten has a fleet of Ford tractors. As for the aero plane for civilian purposes I expect it will come as quick as the auto."

Robert squirmed. "There you go again. I'm going to have to break you two apart. One would think you've opened a business office in the nursery."

"Mary, why don't you take some time? Consider what you're about to do."

"I have Papa. Why is it that while it is money left to me I cannot invest it as I see fit?"

"Matthew insisted on dual management of the estate in return for employing the Swire bequest." Robert said.

"Really? I thought it because I'm a woman and not supposed to know such things." Mary joined Tom on the settee. She fumed.

Robert placed a hand on Mary's shoulder. "Concentrate on raising George. Be as much mother to him and Sybbie as you can. Leave the estate to Tom and me. Leave the finance and investing to Murray's man."

"You're not listening Papa. I'm worried you'll…" She caught herself before she could say anymore.

Robert stiffened. What went unsaid was the danger his last decision placed Downton in. He blinked. "Yes I see. You were about to say you didn't want me losing your money the way I lost your mother's."

"No papa, not that." She looked up at him as if to implore him to understand. "I'm sorry; it didn't come out the way I intended."

"Nevertheless, your feelings are noted." He shifted uneasily. "I'll place a call tomorrow darling. Good night." He kissed Mary, nodded to Tom and walked out of the library.

Mary rubbed her forehead. "My poor Papa," She said after she was certain he'd left the room. She realized she was too close to Tom but did not move. There was a secure comfort where she sat, feeling his heat, smelling his scent.

"Mary He's proud. He knows he's no businessman. But he's not aware that when people don't challenge him it's not that they agree. They're afraid to confront him."

"But not you."

"I married your sister. Without her love I never would have stood up to him. He's stubborn, but he also has the finest sense of obligation as any man I've known. Try to see yourself in his shoes; his world has been falling apart since 1914."

Mary recalled Sybil telling her how handsome the new chauffeur was all those years ago. "No his world started falling to pieces the minute Sybil set eyes on you."

Tom laughed it off. He watched her and shook his head in resignation. "There's that famous smile of the Crawley women. Conspiratorial and enigmatic, how you three can wrap it into one beautiful whole is a mystery to me. No wonder Matthew and I found you and Sybil so enchanting."

Mary's grin faded and she stared at the far wall. "Tom it helps to read Matthew's papers. It's occupied my mind these many months since we buried him. I can read. I can add. There are more cars, more planes. All I want is to have a say and contribute substantially to Downton. I want to do it for me, for George, for us all. Yet every time I bring it up Papa throws the Canadian railroad debacle at me as if I'm trying to rub salt in an open wound."

"Well, he doesn't always listen to me either so don't feel singled out." Tom stood up extending his hand.

She took his palm. When she stepped forward her left heel snagged on a tuft of carpet. She fell awkwardly into his chest.

Tom braced her between his arms, wrapping them around her as she fell arranging his hands to keep her balanced.

For a moment they stood together as if in an embrace. The look on her face as it pressed against his chest seeming to enjoy the rhythmic beating of his heart as if her loneliness held her fast to him.

"If you fall, I'm here to catch you." He whispered reluctantly as she stepped away from him.

"Are you alright?" He watched as she regained her balance.

She looked up at him. "Too tired I suppose." She patted his chest. "Steady like the oak you are." She moved to step away when her cousin Rose breezed into the library.

When the girl spotted Mary and Tom holding hands she froze.

Mary released Tom's hand from her own when she saw that Rose had read something else into the hand holding.

Rose's jaw dropped, she guffawed once holding her hands up as if to apologize. "Don't let me interrupt." She laughed, sashaying to the bar where she poured a liberal shot of Scotch whiskey.

"There's nothing to interrupt." Mary snapped. "Mr. Branson and I were talking business, I tripped on the carpeting and he caught me. You walked in on something you only imagined." Mary faced Tom. "Thank you I'll say goodnight and see you tomorrow."

Rose turned around from the bar to face them. Placing her elbows on it, she hiked a heel over the footrest. "Well, it was only a matter of time: Two hurting hearts, the only ones who can truly understand what the other is going through." She shook her head, her golden tresses waving with every turn. "Look, your secret's safe with me." She slurped the drink." She eyed Tom hungrily then looked back to Mary. "I can see why you want him, confident, divine good looks, a man totally unafraid to reach for what he can't have, as if he's stealing the Sheik's gold." She strutted provocatively to Tom her hips swaying the fringe of her dress that climbed over her knees. She reached for his tie as if to pull him to her. Mary tensed like a lioness.

Tom saved her the trouble; he batted Rose's hand away.

"Ow!"

"You're drunk Rose. You're acting like a conceited, brattish child in woman's clothing. Now go upstairs to bed. You saw nothing here."

"Who says I didn't?"

"I do." Tom barked. "If you persist perhaps your parents would reconsider your stay here after they hear about what you did."

Rose's face collapsed. She wailed like an alley cat, backed into a corner. "You wouldn't dare."

Tom stepped to her as she backed away. "You said it yourself Rose. I'm confident. I know what you did and that makes me very dangerous to you."

Rose considered what he'd said then drained the glass. She took a long glance at Mary then back to Tom. "Too bad you want this old prude." She spun around and stormed out of the Library.

After a few seconds Mary turned. Her mouth was agape raising her hand to cover it. "What did you see?"

Tom indulged himself a minute. "Nothing at all. But that girl's as reckless as a gambler. I knew she's bound to have done something she wants kept secret. Judging from the way she acted she thinks I know." He looked down. "I'm sorry I held your hand so long."

Mary caressed her hand. "Don't. It felt good to hold a man's hand again." She turned to leave.

Tom gathered up his maps and papers. "Mary?"

She stopped.

"You're not an old prude. Don't you ever think that. You're a beautiful and smart woman who will make another man very proud someday."

Mary smiled at him then climbed the stairs. Sybil had once said he was a wonderful man and after experiencing the touch of his hand, his scent and his arms, she recounted the number of times she had sought him out for the comfort of his embrace, his soothing voice. He'd been there for her as certainly as an oak tree.

When she reached her room she studied Matthew's picture. "It's time to get on with life my darling." She kissed the frame as if she had heard him swear he'd hold no one in contempt for loving her.

Tom was a wonderful man but he was her brother in law. She dressed for bed in silence for it was one of the nights she'd given Anna off. She wondered if she should continue seeing Lord William pondering the dull greyness of Flintshire. She pulled the sheets up to her chin. She recalled their wedding. Before, when she thought of that day Matthew had always been in sharp focus. Though now he blurred, slightly but certainly. "Goodbye my darling." She kissed the picture frame again. "Please don't hate me for letting you go." She wept as if she were burying him all over again, her only consolation, recounting Tom's words to her, _'If you fall, I'm here to catch you.'_

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	4. Chapter 4

A/N Many many thanks for the reviews. Thanks to everyone who has read the story and follows it. You readers are the inspiration for me to keep this story going and while I'll try to express my gratitude I know it will never be enough.

**Chapter 4 **

Cora sat to the left of Violet on the sofa in the parlor of the Dower house. Mary was on a settee across from her. Tom was placed in between on the Queen Ann chair. Once again Violet was in command as if she were holding court. "You simply must be careful Mary." Violet kept her eyes focused on her oldest granddaughter. "Lord William is only the first of many to probably come." She looked revolted as if she needed to spit, "They have a way of finding women with money."

"And he's insolvent?" Mary looked from her mother, to Violet, finally to Tom. "How can that be? His estate is in Norfolk, some of the richest land in the country?"

"He has expensive tastes." Violet looked at Tom.

Mary shifted in her seat to look directly at him. "Why ARE you here?" Her voice revealed a fear traced timbre.

Tom was about to respond but Cora pitched in. "Grandmamma asked him to look into Lord William, and I'm glad he did, else we'd never have known he wastes his money acting as if it grows on trees."

"But to spy on the man?" Mary condescended to Tom. "I'd have thought you were more honorable than that."

"Would you rather have been married only for your money?" Violet held up her finger. "Before you lash out any more at Tom know that he didn't wish to do this for me." Violet readjusted herself on the seat. "Now listen to the rest of what he has to say."

If someone would have asked him, he would have answered he didn't like being there any more than Mary did. "The only reason I agreed to your grandmother's wishes was a desire to not see you hurt."

As for Mary, if she knew how uncomfortable he felt, she'd never say in mixed company. Instead she responded with an annoyed "My how chivalrous." She looked away. She'd sit here and listen but only out of respect to Grandmamma, Mama, and yes, to Tom.

"He is very fond of the burlesque circuit in both Berlin and Paris. He makes weekly visits to a particularly seedy section of London near SOHO." Tom cleared his throat, McRyan had found that out. The man had followed Lord William from his house in Norfolk to Paris and back.

Mary digested all the information registering a dull shock while her voice affected a half-hearted disgust aimed at Tom. She returned her tea cup and saucer to the table and stood. "How clever Tom. No doubt you'll soon be able to leave our employ to become a police inspector in an independent Ireland."

Tom continued. "That's not all Mary. He's fond of the girls as well. On six different evenings Lord William was seen with nine different women in his chambers - in various states of disrobing." He flipped the notepad shut.

Mary sat back in the sofa. Anger spread across her face as fast as an African bush fire.

"Don't be mad at Tom dear." Grandmamma soothed. "If you must be angry be so at me."

Cora pleaded, "Tom's done this family yet another service. Lord William would have ruined you."

Mary stood up. "Nevertheless the decision was mine to make over whether to continue with Lord William, not a collective one by you three. I am thankful, truly I am as I have no desire to be a concubine."

"Your mind wasn't on Lord William Mary. You missed his true motive." Cora finished.

Violet stomped her cane on the floor. "Like it or not you were not enamored of the man. Admit it; there was something about him that bothered you too."

"Still I would have liked the opportunity to discover what I would in my own time. Not prompted by your loyal knight and true." She shot past Tom without a glance, grabbed her coat, and hat and strutted to the door.

Violet and Cora looked at Tom as if he could stop her. He waved goodbye and followed Mary out. He caught up with her as she stepped into the drive.

"Mary!" He donned his own hat.

She stopped and turned sharply around. "Why couldn't you come to me? I would have believed anything you told me. If you said the man liked to paint himself green and hide in the forest for his jollies, I wouldn't have doubted you." She marched away a couple steps but stopped, "Instead I am subjected to an interrogation like I'm a nine year old."

"I wanted to come to you." He called after her. When she did not stop he ran to catch up to her. "I didn't because I thought you'd think I had another motive."

Mary quieted. It had been eight months since they buried Matthew. She stopped to think how central to her life Tom had become. She recalled the all the talks in the passages, stair case, the nursery, and the sleepless late nights over tea in the kitchen. These tumbled back into her mind like favorite holiday memories. She weighed all the smiles he caused, the moments he made her laugh, doing for her grief over Matthew what no prayer could. "What motive would you have Tom Branson, brother in law? Would you try angling for me yourself?" She asked grateful her voice hadn't broken, but afraid of the answer.

"Of course not."

She looked away. "Of course, it would be icky, almost incestuous. Well, not really, but you know what I mean."

"I do." Tom answered far too soon. "I'm your brother in law. Not a suitor."

"Yes. Papa would go apoplectic. He'd accuse you of seducing yet another Crawley girl." She laughed. "But you must admit it would be priceless to see the look on his face if you were to tell him." She giggled.

Tom exhaled. "I will say this. I've grown accustomed to you Mary, so has Sybbie. I'd be lying if I said otherwise AND Sybbie adores you. Neither one of us would want you to find someone else and leave Downton. It would be a far emptier place than it already is. Beside, you're a fine businesswoman. We work well together. But I suppose I know it will happen one day. Someone new will take you away." Tom stopped her. "Let me drive you back to the house. Please?"

"I can't stay here forever Tom. Not when everything here trips a memory of Matthew." She said after he got her into the car.

"You're feeling sorry for yourself. Do you not think everything here is a constant reminder to me of the night we lost Sybil?" Tom drove slowly.

She sat beside him in silence. The only sounds passing between them the crunching of the tires on the gravel as they drove the short distance to the house.

When they pulled in front to park Mary reached for Tom's arm. "Of course I'm sorry; everything here at Downton must be a constant source of hurt for you." She said. "I'm being selfish I know."

"You're not. You're being human. You're hurting. You're trying to heal. Wallowing in self-pity can help but only for so long."

"Yes doctor."

"It's like a drug. Making us feel good when we feel bad. But like all drugs it can lead to abuse." He held the door for her.

"How do you come by this knowledge?" She took off her hat.

He stopped her "Will you keep a secret?"

She nodded.

"I spent time speaking with a doctor." Tom whispered.

"Oh my dear Tom, I had no idea."

"So the next time you tell me I'm as 'strong as an oak' you'll know just how strong I am."

"Nonsense. You're the strongest man I know. You have the courage to ask for assistance. I admire that."

They stepped up to the nursery together in silence stopping before opening the door. Mary turned. "Promise me, that if you ever hear something of any man you'll come to me first."

Tom nodded his assent. "But you'll not stop me from looking into them?"

"Only if it's at my behest, oh good knight of mine." She smiled as she patted his arm with one hand while she opened the door with the other.

Sybbie had arranged her dolls in a half-circle. She shook a finger at a dark haired dolly gibbering a scolding. Tom caught Mary's eye and the two of them laughed. "She's watched Carson too much I'm afraid." Tom laughed.

Mary watched Nanny turn to Tom from where she sat reading to Geory. The girl brightened in a way Mary recognized as affection. She attempted to hide her annoyance, hopeful she did not look angry. But why the annoyance, the anger? Even then she questioned certain thoughts and their roots. She could not explain the confusing mix of emotions swirling through her mind. The only thing she knew, at that moment, was that Nanny was smitten with Tom and she felt a twinge of jealosy.

"Mama, Papa." Sybbie jumped to her father.

Tom swept Sybbie up. He indicated Mary, "She's not…" he began but Mary stopped him. She placed her hands on the little girl's cheeks and kissed her forehead. "Sybbie, my darling god-daughter." Then she whispered to Tom, "We can talk later."

While this was happening George squirmed out of Nanny's arms.

"Lady Crawley, Mr. Branson. Lord George has something to show you." She sat George on the carpet where he raised himself on his hands and knees squealing and laughing.

"Geory boy!" Tom knelt. "That's it lad."

Mary squatted next to him. She slipped her arm through his in her excitement. "Oh Tom. Look. Look." She gripped his sleeved bicep with her other hand.

Tom waved Geory on, a monumental smile on his face. "That's it boyo you can do it. My god Mary, he's so fast."

Geory scooted to Mary where she picked him up with a joyous ruffle. As she caressed her son the little boy leaned in to Tom where he grabbed his god-father's finger.

Mary scowled at Nanny while kissing George's cheek, "That's my boy." She cooed into his face.

Tom rubbed George's back as Sybbie bent down to kiss her cousin.

Mary watched Nanny pay attention to how close she leaned in to Tom. When she saw Nanny frown, she leaned in a little more where she kissed his cheek.

Tom blushed as he watched Nanny quickly excuse herself.

Mary turned to him. "I think a certain Nanny likes you. As for Sybbie Tom don't worry, after all how does one tell a two year old she has no mother? Let her be innocent a while longer?" She whispered.

#

After dinner Mary asked Anna to bring Nanny to her sitting room.

Mary pretended to be reading as Nanny reported. "Yes Lady Mary?"

"Are you and Mr. Branson involved?" She placed the book beside her.

Nanny stood still. She tried to speak but could not. She looked left and right as if trapped. She wrinkled her forehead.

"Are you trying to protect yourself or Mr. Branson by hesitating?" Mary glared.

When the woman did not answer Mary exhaled in exasperation. "Oh look, I'm not going to bite your head off. Don't bother answering, the less I probably know of the matter the better." Mary looked down.

"Lady Mary I…"

"Quiet." Mary stepped imperiously to Nanny. She walked around the girl once tensing her fingers.

Nanny breathed heavily.

Mary's expression softened. "My dear girl, please relax. Your secret is safe with me."

After a pause Mary went on. "You're an adequate Nanny and the children respond well to you." She moved slightly drawing out time, "We have something in common you and me: We both share a desire to not see Mr. Branson hurt."

Nanny nodded.

Mary was very careful to with her next words, "I tell you this: If you hurt him you will answer to me. And I shall be fierce in my anger. Do not play with his heart. Do you understand?" The girl nodded. "Now go and mind how you treat him."

After the woman left Mary went to her bedroom where she sat at the vanity. Studying her reflection she decided she wore too much black. As she prepared for bed she whispered, "I have no claim on him. He's my brother in law." She unclasped her bracelet, and unpinned the brooch. "He deserves happiness."

A knock at the door and Anna came in pulling the sleeping gown from the closet laying it out on the bed. "I heard little Lord George crawled his very first today My Lady."

Mary was still pre-occupied with the entire Nanny and Tom thing. It depressed her so much Anna even noticed. "I understand you would have liked Mister Matthew to be there. I'm sorry."

Mary brightened a little. "Anna it was perfect. Tom urged him on and the little boy crawled to us. It was the perfect image of a whole family." She stared at Anna in the mirror. "Only it was a mirage." She fell into a morose silence as Anna brushed her hair.

Anna placed a hand on Mary's shoulder for a moment before she said good night.

A few minutes later, with great care and solemnity Mary held the photo frame of her and Matthew on their wedding day close to her chest. "I must darling. To move on." She kissed the frame wrapping it in her favorite silk scarf. Then with reverent attention she placed it in the bottom of her dresser.

She shuffled to bed considering the men who wanted to become part of her life and the one man who didn't appear to. "I have no claim on him. He's my sister's husband." She slipped beneath the covers depressed beyond description recalling every instant Tom had touched her. She wrapped arms around herself trying to imitate the comfort of his embrace and how with every hug the pain over Matthew hurt a little less. She touched fingers to her mouth where they had brushed the stubble of his beard wondering if her lips helped soothe his pain over Sybil.

She resolved to answer the correspondence from two men the next morning. It was time for her to carry on. She still had a duty to Downton but the thought of beginning again was daunting and scary. Would she have the courage, or would she dissolve into a retreat of solitude?

As she began to cry she attempted to conjure the memory of an embrace from Matthew, but it was the face of the living Tom who came to her. "Notice me," she prayed between wet tears and dry sobs as she curled into a ball, weeping herself to sleep over the paradox how Tom could be so far away from her but so close.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

A westerly breeze danced the drapes sweeping the day's heat from the library. The brace of fresh air triggered in Tom a recollection of a passage he'd once read from an obscure translation of Coleridge's, or was it Emerson: _Glory be Lord Neptune for the breeze upon thy brow._ Tom faced Mary. He wielded the report in his hand like a minister shaking his bible. "You're not listening. This is a report of our cash count. At the rate we're burning through it we'll be on the ropes in a year. Two years at the best." He threw the report on Lord Grantham's desk where it settled in the middle of the ink blotter.

"Honestly Tom, how can that be, the rents are up, the estate has doubled the acreage we manage, and the oats and lucerne have been planted?" She held her hands out, palms up.

"Your father's using Matthew's money to pay for the upkeep on the house." He spoke over his shoulder as he stepped to the liquor service where he poured two brandies. He walked back to the sofa handing one to Mary, "I'm not looking forward to that discussion."

"I'll be there with you when we speak to him. That should disarm him somewhat." She sipped.

"We should bring Granny." Tom loosened the bow tie of his tuxedo. He sat down on the sofa next to her.

"Oh that would just intimidate him. He never crosses Granny." Mary smiled a knowing one.

"Precisely why I'd like her there." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

She dwelled on him a minute longer than she thought prudent but saw in the man what her sister had loved: confidence, in himself, his path, and faith that it was the correct one. That's how he would confront her father, directly, fearless in his advocacy for hewing to Matthew's plan; deferring maintenance on the house until estate operations were running close to or at full capacity. Rose said he was fearless. Sybil said of him that he was quite full of himself. Mary smiled her agreement.

"Tom there's a time for confrontation. There's a time for celebration. There will be time for all that later." She crossed her legs leaning her head on her hand. "I fancy a day off tomorrow to take the children to the lake for a picnic. We'll celebrate George's first romp. Would you come too?"

Tom winked but kept his eyes closed. "What a good idea. That's what I need, a day with Sybbie and my favorite in law and nephew to remind me why I work." He opened his eyes expecting to see her smiling, satisfied at his declaration of devotion to her son. But Mary frowned imperiously at him instead. "There's something else, he sighed, less a question than a statement.

"How do you know?" She straightened her back.

"Because when you're stressed about having to say something you go all high horsey."

"I do not!" She chuckled then abruptly turned serious, "It's not good form Tom, to be intimate with the governess. If you're going to be part of this family you must act like it."

Tom bent his head as if he hadn't heard correctly. "Say that again, the intimate part?"

"Tom don't play ignorant."

"I'm not. I'm just trying to determine what exactly you're talking about."

"Are you and the governess having an affair?"

Tom let seconds pass between them in silence. Finally, he took a quick breath, "It's the first time since Sybil that anyone's touched me." He looked into the empty space recalling the happier moments he shared with his wife. Then with a committed shake of his head he added, "We haven't slept together."

"Well she is pretty, young, and energetic." Mary hoped he didn't detect the slight unsteadiness in her voice.

"The first stirrings of being human since her and I'm told that it's bad form?" Tom touched his chest where lay his heart.

Mary cocked her head a bit. "I didn't mean it as an admonishment Tom. Just that it can hurt you, just as Pamuk hurt me." She thought about each word she was about to say careful to use the most correct ones. "I want you to be happy. I'm just not sure the girl is the right one, right now."

He faced her. "Then you'll be relieved to know that's why I ended it with her." Tom's smile evaporated when he saw how Mary frowned. "Just to set the record straight, we've only ever kissed."

He watched tears fill her eyes. He took it as something different than what she later admitted to. "Are you weeping because you think I'll forget Sybil?" When she didn't answer he followed up. "Every time I kiss the girl I feel as if I'm walking over her grave."

"Sybil wouldn't want you to sacrifice your happiness just to satisfy the memory of what you had with her. She was better than that. You know."

Tom wiped away one of her tears. "What's wrong?" He took her hands in his. Her grip was strong.

Some years later Mary would tell Anna she was crying from joy, that Tom hadn't found someone else yet. "I envy you, being ready to move on. That's why my tears." She lied.

Tom lightly squeezed her hand. Yesterday she had kissed his cheek. He'd thought nothing of it until now. As they embraced her arms wrapped him in much the same way another Crawley girl had once done.

#

Tom loaded the car with a canvas to lay under the blanket Mary was bringing plus two inner tubes to lean on. Hearing footsteps behind him he turned to find Mrs. Hughes in the doorway of the garage. "Mr. Branson, Ivy has the picnic basket ready in the kitchen." She looked down, uneasy over how to say what she needed to.

Noticing her discomfort Tom faced her. "It's about Governess is it?"

"It is. And I believe you know why she must go."

"I'm Sybil's parent. Shouldn't I be the one to decide whether she goes or stays?"

"Couldn't you have been more discreet? The staff are talking."

"Nothing's happened! I've kissed her twice, there have been no untoward acts, no rolls in the hay loft, or dancing the Charleston or biting the garter from her thigh!" Honestly Mrs. Hughes, I have a greater sense of honor than that. And who made you my mother?"

"Mr. Branson, it doesn't look good. Mr. Carson and I have no authority over the girl but you must be on guard for women who seek to link their lives to your fortune."

"She's an honest woman." Tom stood before Mrs. Hughes. "Besides, she knows I can't love her the way I loved Lady Sybil. But if I could, I know, and you do too, that Lady Sybil would brook no resistance to the match."

"I don't doubt that. I'm relieved to hear that your dalliance with the girl was not too physical. Mr. Carson will be pleased, and I think so will Lady Mary."

Tom canted his head. "Lady Mary told you then?" He fixed his tie, checking the knot in the side mirror.

"She did not. The governess herself did when she turned in her notice. As for Lady Mary we know how much she relies on you."

Tom cranked the car. "Mrs. Hughes I'm sorry I accused you of being like a mother."

Elsie Hughes smiled proudly, as proud as she dared, "If I may, and if I had a son, I can think of none to make me more happier than you."

#

It was the first day since Matthew's death that Tom saw Mary in something other than black. She wore a lavender dress under an off white jacket and matching hat. She was thinner, paler, but with George in her arms she conveyed a sense of energy, almost triumph. It was the best he had seen her look in months.

George was dressed for the warm day in a white nautical suit with tiny seaman's cap. She loaded the baby bag in the front seat leaving the pram for Tom to load in the boot. It was then she saw Sybbie picking the flowers, "Sybbie dear, there'll be plenty of flowers to take by the lake."

Sybbie ignored her godmother examining each bloom, dallying over the very best and picking a bouquet of the most colorful.

Suddenly Lord Grantham stepped from behind a tree waving a butterfly net in a playful manner. "Argh!" He rumbled. "Fee fi fo fum! Who's been picking my Chrysanthemums?" He spread his arms as if to trap his granddaughter sending the little girl squealing for safety behind Mary's skirt.

Lord Grantham winked at Mary and Tom. "Where'd she go? I lost her, why she was right here." He affected a slow moving dimwitted giant.

Sybbie erupted into uncontrolled giggling behind Mary. "Oh Grampy!" She poked her head around Mary's skirt.

Lord Grantham bent to her level laying a hand on her head. "You mind Papa and Aunt Mary at the lake young lady."

Sybbie stood on her toes reaching to give her grandfather a kiss. Tom picked her up, plopping her into the back seat, "here you go darling'."

Robert turned to Mary. "You look lovely my dear." Turning to Tom he handed him a note. "Would you stop at Farmer Wells to deliver my condolences? His wife died recently. If it's not too much trouble; I'll understand if you would rather not do it, unpleasant memories and all."

"It'll be an honor." Tom slipped the note into the pocket of his coat.

"I'll go with him Papa." She tapped her chin. "Farmer Wells? Weren't his sheep always the blue ribbon winners at the Thirsk Fair?"

"He would appreciate you remembering that." Robert waved goodbye as they took off.

Farmer Wells lived a few kilometers northwest of Downton in a two story stone house. As the car tires crunched the gravel in the driveway Tom slowed to point out the wild flowers to Sybbie growing between the rail fence and pathway.

Mary and Sybbie were in awe as they watched splashes of colors from the Autumn Squill, Basil, blue Fleabane, and Yellow Bird's feet. As they approached the house bushes of yellow buttercups and bluebells grew together in circular bunches. "Mrs. Well's was an artist Tom. I forgot how pretty this end of the estate is." Mary lauded the scene.

Across the drive, in front of a garage, a man bent over a harrow implement replacing a serrated plate. He pulled up, peering at the car in the suspicious manner rural folk often have. Upon seeing Mary holding George he relaxed and tipped his cap to her, then to Tom.

"Hello Mr. Wells." Tom extended his hand to the man.

"Not a Wells sir; name's Cheney, related to Mrs. Wells, helping out whilst my cousin is buried."

"Well we'd like to express our condolences to Mr. Wells. We have a note from Lord Grantham expressing the house's sorrow."

"He'll 'preciate the sentiments, he will, once he's back from Ripon." Cheney said. He pulled a handkerchief to blow his nose.

Tom reached into his jacket pulling the envelope from a pocket. Sybbie started to climb out of the car to pick flowers but Mary kept one hand on her and the other on George.

"Please let Mr. Wells know how bad we feel for him. If there is anything he may need. He's welcome to call me at any time." Tom finished by handing Cheney his card.

"My apologies sir for such dirty hands." Cheney said as he shook Tom's hand.

"I've seen worse." Tom returned to the car wiping his hands on the grease rag beside his seat.

Cheney noticed Sybbie blowing kisses to him. "I'll let him know you and the Mrs. stopped by." He returned Sybbie's wave, "Fine pair of young 'uns you have there."

Tom thanked the man, released the brake and drove off.

#

The lake was sunny and warm with just enough heat to only wilt adults but exhaust children. After an hour of play, and lunch Sybbie fell down for a nap next to her cousin sleeping contentedly with one arm protectively draped over him.

Mary poured two glasses of wine as a soft breeze cooled her. "I never knew how peaceful a picnic to be until I shared it with sleeping children." She whispered.

"I'm grateful Sybbie finally ran out of steam. It was about time." Tom leaned back on the stacked tire tubes.

"Why didn't you correct Mr. Cheney when he thought we were a family?" Mary flashed her eyes.

Tom studied her for a moment before he answered. "I suppose I liked the feeling, that for a second, just a second, we WERE a family. It felt good in that moment: that the children would always have a Mam and Da, that Sybil never died, that Matthew never passed on…" Tom looked away.

Mary inched her hand closer to his. She stopped within a finger's width to spare. She sighed. "Thank you."

"For what?" He kept his eyes closed.

"For bringing me back to life." She stared at his finger as if willing it to reach for hers.

Tom regarded her speculating on the emotions swirling around her head. "You didn't need me. You're a woman of courage. All you needed was someone who knows where it's at to help you tap into it." He raised himself on an elbow spotting her hand close to his own.

Mary followed his eyes. "I've told you before Sybil was the one with all the courage in this family." His attention stirred her. He seemed to study her in a way he had never done before. She wondered what lay beneath his open collar. She watched his chest rise and fall recording each beat of his pounding heart. Tentatively at first one finger climbed over his followed swiftly by the others lacing themselves between his. She lowered herself slowly, close to his lips, focused on his eyes. Her hand explored his with caresses she had not used in a long time. She closed her eyes as her lips searched his. She barely brushed them when she felt his hand come between them.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" He asked her even as he lowered his hand.

"I pray yes." Mary opened her eyes. Then as if reconsidering she pulled back a few inches. "No. Yes. Oh I'm not sure. I'm not certain of anything anymore. The only thing I do know is that I want to kiss you. I know I shouldn't, we shouldn't. But I want to." She exhaled as he pulled her to him.

He placed a hand behind her neck looking down into her eyes. "Then let's finish this." He wrapped his lips around hers.

All she could do was surrender, sighing as she felt him wrap her into the passion of his lips and the home of his embrace.

##


	6. Chapter 6

After their moment at the lake Mary avoided Tom for the next two days.

Was it the memory of Matthew? Was it regret? Or was it guilt for leading Tom to expect something she ultimately could not give? Or was it the realization that he was still Tom, and she was a Lady named Mary, that the gulf that separated them was wider than she could imagine crossing? Sybil had crossed it so why couldn't she?

As Mary attempted to prepare for dinner she just sat at the dresser mirror staring into her reflection, examining her face, detecting subtle signs of aging, a wrinkle at the eye here, a line across the forehead there. "I can't cross that line because I don't have your courage." She spoke as if Sybil were sitting on bed behind her. Mary held her head in her hands and sighed. Tom had given her a wonderful gift: to feel wanted, needed again. He had held her, caressed her, loved her, slowly brought her back to life, making her believe she was still alluring enough to pursue. Not only that but he valued her ideas on estate operations, even Matthew dictated business decisions to her. Why then did she feel so bad, like she'd stolen not a great treasure but a poor man's last two pennies? She knew she could not follow through. They could never be together, she hadn't the courage, and Matthew was still too raw. She fixed her hair and opened the note he'd wrote to her that afternoon:

**?**

She studied her reflection in the mirror knowing what she must do and hating herself for it. "You witch." She fumed even as she touched her fingers to her lips recalling his lips on hers and how not even Matthew's could reach down into the core of her soul and touch her heart quite the same way Tom's had done. "Please forgive me Tom for what I am about to do."

#

After dinner, after Robert, Tom, and Dr. Clarkson had shared cigars, Tom excused himself. He stepped into the grand hall, opened the note Mary had sent him earlier: '_Patio after your brandy.'_

He found her staring out over the lawn of Downton leaning on the stone balustrade. Tom straightened and looked out at what she was looking at. "I'm confused. First you come at me like you can't live without me, now you treat me as if I've the plague. He sat an arm's length from her.

Mary gazed into the night sky reluctant to face him. She sighed, "Your eyes are bluer than I thought." She spoke in a low tone, sidelong.

Tom leaned one hand closer to her. "You haven't stayed away from me for two days just to tell me that."

She faced him. "Maybe we made a mistake. I think I did." Mary avoided his eyes.

Tom exhaled. "Well if an omission I did commit; it was a lovely one."

She grabbed a breath, "Perhaps we should walk away now, while we can. It's too soon for me after Matthew. Beside, isn't it illegal?" She tried to reason.

"Not since the passage of the Marriage Act. Matthew lobbied your father for his vote." He followed her eyes. "The better question is what I mean to you?"

She turned to him gazing directly into his eyes, "Why did you kiss me?"

"Because you certainly seemed to want me to." When she did not respond he added, "we're a good match you and I."

"I wish, no wait, I want to believe that." Mary rubbed her shoulders from the evening chill ignoring the first part of his statement letting the silence hammer loudly between them. Finally she turned to him with regret set deep into her eyes. "I was wrong Tom. I'm sorry."

He starred at her for a long while. His features mysterious, "Then explain yourself."

She hunched her shoulders in her confusion. "It's us, right now, the timing, it's all off. It's not about what I thought we can have, what we could share; it was about me being selfish and weak. Don't you see? It's a mirage. It's all a mirage. No Tom it won't work between us! I'm not that brave. And I have duties, to Downton, to George." She turned her back to him then just as quickly turned quickly around. "Beside I'm not even sure this is love." When he did not answer she continued. "It was such a mistake Tom. I've led you on, I'm sorry. All I wanted was for someone to notice me. I feel like such a witch."

"Then look me in the eye, and tell me then that kiss meant nothing to you." Tom demanded.

Mary spun around flaring her eye imperiously. "It meant…" she began, then witnessed the pain in his face and she became seized by a sudden stoppage. She took a deep breath, looked down at her shoes and spoke her well rehearsed line, "It meant nothing at all to me." She squeezed her eyes shut.

"You look me in the eye when you say that. I don't believe you." Tom hissed.

"It makes no difference to me if you do or not. Believe what you wish." She forced the words. "No matter what we do neither of us can escape our pasts. We are saddled with the ghosts of irreplaceable loves. I don't want to be forever compared to Sybil and you wouldn't want to be compared to Matthew." She exhaled sharply. "Let's just pull the plug on the idea of us and tell ourselves we were just taking the sharp edges off an otherwise very lonely existence. I've led you down a path we dared not tread." After a delay she went on. "I don't want to lead you falsely Tom I care too much for you for that."

As for Tom he just folded his arms and shook his head, "I don't believe it Mary. Answer me now, before we go any further: Do you love me?" He held his breath, afraid of her answer.

"You tell me first." She stalled.

"That's unfair."

"No, you've had more time to adjust after losing Sybil. I don't think it unfair at all."

Tom smiled. "That's Mary, control the conversation, and never answer first unless she can compel the other.

"Alright: I do. You're a good woman who doesn't even know her own capacity for kindness. Sybbie has bonded to you like her own mother; I'll not be the one to rip her away. George reaches for me like his father. A piece of me would go if I were to leave him." Tom took two steps from her. "I've grown accustomed to you Mary, comfortable as it were. In those first days after Sybil you were a comfort, you were a shoulder, you are always there when I get back from work, I've love our conversations in the nursery where we watch Sybbie and George growing closer. I like brandies in the library, arguing with your father over the Estate, debating balance sheets with you and catching Rose in another confrontation as she comes in late from yet another debauchery."

Mary laughed at that. "The wild sister I'm so fortunate to have never had." She covered her mouth.

Tom held out his hands. "I know so much about you, how you try to keep from breaking down, how you turn your head from side to side when you're about to cry, how you shield yourself from your sensitivity by putting up a front. How you never like to show that you're as kind, and as good, as Sybil was. That's what I love about you."

Mary starred at him. "But you don't love me like Sybil?"

"That's not a fair question. You know that." Tom said.

She turned around to avoid his eyes. After what only seemed an eternity to her she spoke, "Then you are wrong about me and don't know me at all." Again the rehearsed statement, carefully practiced.

Tom threw his arms in the air. "You and your family are enough to drive a man either crazy or insane enough to join the Foreign Legion. You're, You're…" he struggled for words fishing for the most appropriate one. He wanted to scream but caught himself. He began to understand and he faced her. "…You're not certain of that are you? You're unsure." He smiled as if he'd cracked a mystery.

"Oh don't Tom." Mary tried to sound desperate but she failed. He'd run her down like a fox.

Tom smirked. "No, no. You do care for me, but you don't know how yet." Tom rocked back on his heels happy.

Mary avoided his eyes. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh you know exactly what I mean."

She faced him. She exhaled trying to summon the precise words, "Alright. I do care. About you, about Sybbie, and about Downton, but unlike you I have duties beyond love. I'm bound to serve Downton, and dammit the only asset I have is that I wear a skirt and it goes with a title!"

"Oh you silly girl, your talent's right there!" Tom pointed to her head. "You've a remarkable mind. You're good at business." He stepped close to her but did not take her in his arms. "Why can't you see it?"

"No Tom, I have to find someone with money. Those are the rules to this game. Maybe I'll meet someone, we'll be like Papa and Mama, start out as allies then fall in love later. It's up to me to save this." She spread her arms as if to engulf all of the estate.

"Give our plans time." Tom pleaded.

"You heard Murray last time he was here. Our position is nearly untenable."

"You're giving up, aren't you?"

"I don't even completely know what I feel for you." She bowed her head, smiled, then watched him as she said: "All I know at that moment, and now, is that I wanted to kiss you." She whispered.

"Then that kiss did mean something to you."

Mary stared at him with extreme regret. "It was lovely. But any Lady who loves you must have courage, and I do not. Matthew is still too, too…" She hesitated then answered "… near."

Tom nodded his head acknowledging the irony. "Why is it I always seem to be waiting on a Crawley woman?" He paused. "Then take you time." He looked into her face. "This is my promise to you. Next year, I'll stand here all night if need be and either properly propose to you, or if you're not here by dawn we agree to go our separate ways."

They sat on the balustrade together, each lost in thoughts of their own. Both later admitted to weighing all that could happen in a year's time.

"You need the time." Tom said. "It's too soon after Matthew for you to make a decision I understand that now."

"I don't have the courage Tom." Mary leaned into him resting her head on his chest.

Tom lifted her chin, pulled her to him. He kissed her as if his lips would never touch hers again. "A chroi, my heart, that's the last kiss I'll give you until next year."

She blinked as she fought the welling tears. "Move on without me Tom. Forgive me." Mary patted his arm but stayed against him leaning on his strength. Finally, she pushed herself away from him wiping her eyes and rushed into the house.

Tom watched her go. He stood motionless like a sculpture for long moments before slowly thrusting his hands into his pockets. He arched his back, stretched and gazed at the moon. "Branson you bloody fool." He shook his head as he sauntered back into the house.

From behind a curtain Carson silently closed the window. He hadn't meant to overhear yet found he couldn't pull himself away from the drama. It was really no business of his anyway but he couldn't help feeling sorry for the both of them: Two people too young to abandon the hope of love but too old to replicate what had been ripped from them.

##


	7. Chapter 7

A/N Much of this chapter is from the prompt of a still photo released showing Tom and Sybbie from the upcoming season 4 of Downton for which I must thank the Producers. Many, many thanks to all who have reviewed previous chapters. I hope you enjoy...

**Chapter 7**

Mary did her best to keep her trip to London a secret from Sybbie. But children can detect when a beloved adult is preparing to go away, no matter how short a time that may be. The worlds of children are small. Wandering limits are the near lawn. Far away was the fountain. Sybbie's frontier was the main gate. Their worlds are small and their loves large. All of their loves are intense and born of a desire to belong.

When Sybbie started calling Mary 'Mama' no one really knew. How she came to calling her that was just as baffling. Edith's idea was probably the most accurate. She hypothesized that her niece had heard Tom refer to Mary as God-Mother, and the little girl just shortened it from God-mother to Gammama, and later to Mama when she observed Mary call for Cora. It was no doubt that for a child without a mother a sense of devotion to Mary manifested itself. All of this caused Tom a good deal of consternation. How could he tell his daughter of Sybil? Or the horrible anniversary surrounding Sybbie's birthday. No, he decided he would wait until she was a little older and could better understand.

As the Chauffeur drew the car to the front for Mary, Alfred carried her cases and bags to the boot. Mary toted George to the foyer followed by nanny and Mrs. Hughes. Sybbie gripped Mary's skirt as if sensing something was amiss.

Sybbie tugged the hem as if she could keep Mary longer. She looked up, and in a plaintive voice begged, "Take the kiddies?" Her child's voice could not hide the desperation at the fact her Mary was going away.

Mary gave George to nanny and squatted. She smiled, brushed Sybbie's hair back with a gloved hand for the little girl had inherited her father's rebellious cowlick. "Oh my darling. Gam-mama has to go away to London for a visit with her auntie."

"Take me?" Sybbie held her arms up. Her face drooped into a frown.

"But if I take you who is to take care of your papa?" Mary soothed, "No dearest. I must go by myself." She hugged Sybbie then brushed her nose, "Now will you do something for me?"

Sybbie glared at Mary doubtfully.

"I need you to help look after Geory. Can you do that?"

"No!" Sybbie cried.

"Please my little one?"

"No!"

Mrs. Hughes stepped in. She noticed the appeal for help reflected in Mary's face.

"Oh Mrs. Hughes Miss Sybil and I are having a bit of a confrontation. Is Mr. Branson handy?" Mary exhaled.

"I sent Jimmy for him a half hour ago. They should be back soon, I hope." Leaning down to Sybbie Mrs. Hughes asked if she wanted a cocoa from Daisy.

"I want Mama!" Sybbie cried harder when she watched as Mary adjusted her hat in the hall mirror.

Mrs. Hughes sent Nanny to fetch Mr. Carson (who seemed to be the only other person beside Mary and Tom who could quiet Sybbie when she was upset). A few seconds after the girl departed riding boots on tile heralded Tom's arrival.

"Oh in the nick of time," Mary smiled.

"I see you're off." He greeted her then reached down for Sybbie sweeping her into his arms. "Now darlin' say goodbye to Aunt Mary."

"No Mama!" Sybbie fussed, great tears welling in her eyes.

Mary looked away, and then turned close to Tom, "This is so hard."

Tom gently squeezed Mary's arm in a silent goodbye, "I hope you find what you're looking for." He walked out with her as he felt Sybbie's tears falling onto his neck.

"I'll be back in three weeks." Mary climbed into the back seat. She rolled down the window, "You'll write often? Ring up if there's any emergency?"

"You just enjoy yourself. We'll be fine here." Tom called back as Sybbie struggled to be released. By the time Mary got comfortable Sybbie was kicking her father. "Momma, Momma, Momma!" she yelled as if her tears could arrest Mary and keep her from leaving.

Mary gave Tom a long last look then murmured something to the driver and the car pulled away.

As the auto rolled down the drive Sybbie kicked so hard into his side that Tom had to let her down. Sybbie ran after the Rolls as fast as her legs could carry her. Tom walked quietly behind.

By now Carson had appeared. When he attempted to pass, Tom held him back. "Let her be the one to give up the chase."

Carson's face fell. Was it sympathy that he felt for this man he so thoroughly misunderstood? Or was it a child's feelings that tugged at him.

Though it hurt him to his core, Tom let his daughter wear herself out. He caught up with Sybbie as the little girl cried watching the car disappear into a grove of trees. Great tears streamed down her cheeks. Tom squatted beside her taking one of her hands in his. He stared in the same direction as she, a look of regret on his face. "Where Mamma go?" Sybbie sobbed. Tom brushed a tear away.

"She's gone to a place called London love." Tom picked her up.

"Have little girls there?" Sybbie rested her head on Tom's shoulder.

"A lot of people my little one, many children, but nary a child like you." He wrapped her tighter into his arms. "Oh love if I could spare you hurt I would." He kissed her and walked back to the house as her tears dried on his collar.

He questioned what it was that Mary could be feeling just now but decided against dwelling too heavily upon it. A few months later Mary would finally admit to him that Sybbie wasn't the only one crying that day as the car sped down the lane.

#

Once she arrived at Rosamund's house Mary reviewed her plans for a compacted social calendar. She regretted leaving George at Downton but saw no alternative. Rosamund had a small house. Her cook doubled as housekeeper. Her butler doubled as footman. Bringing baby George would have been a burden on her aunt.

Rosamund knocked gently on the door to her room as Mary unpacked.

"Aunt Rosamund," Mary turned with two evening dresses in her hands, "I'm already missing George."

Rosamund stepped into the bedroom where she sat herself on the edge of the bed. "Then let me take the anxiety away: dinner tonight at 8:30. Lord Bollingstoke and Count Conrad are attending. You'll be pleased to know they're both as good looking in person as they are in the magazines." Rosamund waved a pair of pictorials before her then set them on the bed. The magazines dealt with horses, hunting, polo and racing. She studied her niece. "Did you remember to speak with Branson's man," she twirled an index finger trying to recall his name.

"Gallion." Mary answered.

"Yes the stable master, did you remember to talk to him about horses, how many hands high makes for a good Polo pony, and what roughage means?"

"I remembered. Polo ponies are ideally suited for the game at 14.8 hands high. Hunters are ideal at 16. And our variety of forage Tom's had planted will nourish their animals into equine athletes, not to mention the alfalfa, excuse me, lucerne."

Rosamund frowned, "My dear, don't sound like a cheap sales girl at Selfridge's. Leave that to Branson."

Mary blushed. "His name is Tom."

"Yes." Rosamund shrugged. "It was such a fine idea to get you out of Downton. You've spent too much time swimming in grief with that poor man. Leave him to his tasks and he'll be happy."

Mary turned to hang her dresses. Rosamund mentioning him made her think of what it was that Tom would be doing. It would be time for his tea. He would insist on it in the nursery, playing tea with Sybbie all while holding George. Maybe it was the way Rosamund dismissed him but she suddenly became annoyed at her aunt. Why did she fail to see Tom as a member of the family? Was it was the social distance remaining between her and Tom that caused Mary's sudden frustration? Or was it Rosamund looking out for Downton's future? Mary snapped at her aunt. "Tom Branson is remarkably well read Rosamund, novels, newspapers, politics, agricultural reports, Finance, Horse and Mallet." She held up one of the magazines. "My guess is that he can more than out argue Lord Bollingstoke and Count Conrad together."

"That my dear is why you must get away from that man. He scorns the upper class, he's not at the same level as the men you will be dining with tonight. We've all been worried about, how should I say this? How close you've become to him."

Mary turned around very slowly, "Just who comprises 'we?' Certainly not Granny, Tom's become one of her favorite projects. Papa relies too heavily on him, and Mamma likes having him and Sybbie near. Edith and he can talk endlessly about politics, and Isobel reads the latest poetry with him. I'm afraid that leaves only you?"

Rosamund was undeterred. "Well I can tell the situation you both found yourselves in was taking a toll on your sense of place."

"Really Aunt Rosamund, you and possibly Papa need not worry. The only intimacy Mr. Branson and I share stems from the mutual understanding of the bereaved." Mary thought then of that kiss by the lake and how it stirred her.

Rosamund waved her hand dismissively. "Now Mary Lord Bollingstoke has the looks and some money to bring into a potential match for you, whereas Count Conrad brings a title and an estate. His looks by the way are heavenly. If it were me I would be hard pressed to decide."

Mary sighed heavily, was this to be her struggle through life: saving Downton? Here she was fighting for it yet again. She looked over her unpacking, "There, that should do it all." She brushed her hands. "About Mr. Branson, I agree with you. He is in a far different league of men than the fellows we will be dining with tonight." Mary smiled slyly at her double entendre. She crossed the room to sit in the chair under the window. She gazed out at the neighborhood park and sighed, surprised at how much she already missed her son, Sybbie, and yes, she admitted it, the presence of Tom.

#

Robert pulled the lapels of his jacket down. "We agreed when Matthew died that I would supervise the House and you the farming operations for the estate. Why can't you get that through your head?"

Tom leaned forward to signal he would not be intimidated. "My Lord, with respect, you're not listening to me. I'm saying the estate cannot afford burning cash at both ends! It's all there in the report I placed on your desk last month." Tom wished his tea were something stronger.

"Tom you came to Downton over ten years ago and in that time we have performed no maintenance on the house. Since then it has seen the lack of construction workers owing to the War, being used as a hospital, not to mention the financial constraints. The house, beside our home, is the crown jewel of the estate. If we do not keep it up it will not receive the attention from the Crown or Downing Street that it deserves. Remember the government will pay us for the use of the estate while the Irish negotiations are here. Why the only reason the government to government meetings are being held here is because of the repairs; repairs that had been deferred for far too long."

Tom wiped a hand across his face. "Pa, all I know is that I cannot make Downton profitable for the next two years. But after that we have a real chance, but I need capital to make it happen. Capital that could have been tapped by deferring the repairs on the north wing for another two years, now Gallion will be forced to delay the breeding effort because we can't afford the mares, or the stud fees."

Robert stood up abruptly. He arched his back as he stared Tom down. "What did you say?" He murmured.

Tom quickly recalled his last few words. He blushed when he realized he'd called Robert Pa. "I'm sorry My Lord, I…" Tom took a breath, "…Sybil always wanted me to call you that whenever I spoke about you to her."

Robert walked to the window and peered over the lawn. After what seemed an eternity to Tom, but only a long minute, Robert spoke. "It's not what you think. I'm not indignant." He turned around "I'm actually very ashamed."

Tom remained silent.

"I regret not being at your wedding. I was wrong," Robert's voice cracked with emotion, "Mary told me after we lost Sybil how she cried before the wedding when she learned I'd forbidden Cora to attend. I don't know how you can forgive me but I hope you will try."

Tom fought down a lump in his throat.

Robert stepped up to Tom. "I lost an unborn son, relatives on the Titanic, Matthew, Sybil. I suppose there are other Earls around the country who would see only crass irony that I am left with a 'chauffeur' to call me father but if you'll find it in your heart to forgive me then I'll accept, and be proud, for you to call me Pa." He took Tom's hand in his shaking it with great vigor.

When Tom just stood there in silence Robert worried. "What's the matter?"

Tom cleared his throat struggling to keep his emotion in check. "Well, I think you've finally found a way to shut me up." He chuckled.

At first Robert drew a blank then when he realized the humor he threw his head back in laughter. Soon both men were laughing so hard their faces broke into tears; of joy and sorrow, of loss and gain.

Robert placed a hand on Tom's shoulder and thanked him. "After the talks with the Irish Free State representatives I promise, we'll follow your plan."

##


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Day by day Tom had his work to keep his mind occupied in Mary's absence. He missed her, how else could he explain the emptiness he woke up with? He missed her companionship, the nearness of her familiarity, and the softness of her voice. Tea in the nursery was less magical without her to share Sybbie's laughter, or George's acrobatics. Dinners were bland, aperitifs in the drawing room mere formalities. Most of all he missed the sound of her laughter, marveling at how little he laughed when she was away. Yet he was seized with an inexplicable fear: what if she returned from London changed? Had he been trying to wish something into existence between them that really did not exist? But she had expressed herself for him first, had she not?

The constant chatter in his mind was enough to drive him mad; so he fell back on work. There was certainly enough of it to do. Harvest would soon come. There were temporary workers to hire, equipment to repair, tracts to schedule for reaping. Not only that, Tom knew she was right; about needing the time away. She needed to close the wound of Matthew completely, to have time to reflect, to find out who she was now.

But he ached to have her near. And he lived for her letters.

Tom had come in late for luncheon and found a letter from her. He tore it open immediately grinning how she was getting on with the 'soiree set' as she had come to call the crowd that occupied her time. They were the kind of crowd that oohed and awed over literature no one understood (but who were afraid to admit it), art that people saw brilliance in (when there was nothing at all but smudges of paint on canvas). She even seemed put off by the very same people whose company she so highly valued just a few years ago.

He read:

"_It seems hardly possible I am the same person from ten years ago. I suppose Papa would call it 'going American' but when I see this set of people today their composure seems so, so obsolete. Back then a title meant something locked, something natural, something bred. It was power, privilege, and wealth all tied into one bundle. Our futures were handed to us on fine silver. You're right, Dear Tom, the world has been turned upside down. I suspect the future belongs to those who paint their own canvases. I see that too many seem to be fiddling as their Rome's burn. What can account for these ideas? I'm half American after all. Or I have Sybil, Matthew, and you my dear, to thank." _

He lightly touched his lips re-drawing the memory of that kiss at the lake. It was then he fully understood what Matthew had once told him, that everyday a little more Mary became revealed to those she chose. He could not help comparing her to Sybil. His wife had fascinated him for what she shared, Mary for what she hid.

A rasp at the door broke his thoughts. He turned around to see Carson with an envelope in his hand.

"Telegram Mr. Branson," He handed the note to Tom but lingered by the desk.

"Is there anything else Mr. Carson?"

Carson cleared his throat. "I wondered if you knew how Lady Mary is getting on."

"She wrote she's been to luncheons, dinners, the opera, and a symphony at Royal Albert Hall. She's staying quite busy." Tom reached for the letter opener.

"It shall be hard to fill her heart after Mr. Crawley." Carson added. "One wonders if it would have been wise to escort her while in London."

Tom furrowed his brow. This wasn't like Carson. He glanced up, "Well, she has a good head, a better heart. Matched with an honest man she'll be fine. You needn't worry about her. Besides, she needed the time away."

"One only wishes for her to be happy." Carson tilted his head, the only concession he made to Tom's position. He turned to leave but lingered by the door. He gazed out the window, "Did you see that the violets are particularly fetching this season Mr. Branson?"

Tom nodded his agreement, even though he'd never taken the time to consider.

Carson stepped as if to leave the room yet paused again "Lady Mary's favorite flowers, she played among them for hours when she was Miss Sybil's age." He tilted his head again then departed.

Tom reflected on Carson's words for quite a spell then snapped his fingers, "Of course. Stay in the game." He reached for the phone, connected to London, and waited for Rosamund's butler to answer. "Mead? This is Tom Branson from Downton. If some flowers were sent to Lady Mary would you ensure she gets them?"

After that he placed a call to the florist. Although autumn colors were already becoming popular Tom insisted on a summer bouquet sprinkled with purple and white violets. His message: _Missing you._

Satisfied with himself he rose to visit the nursery. He remembered the telegram almost as an after-thought. What he expected was news from the labor agent in Liverpool promising ten men next month. What he read made him frown. "Oh god," McRyan of Dublin notoriety, and the man who had helped him trace the movements of the Lord from Flintshire was coming in on the train the very next day. What on earth could have made the man leave London?

#

Next morning Tom waited across the road from the depot. Passengers walked briskly off the platform gradually thinning the crowd until a lone figure was left at the top of the stairs. There stood McRyan, valise in hand, an overcoat draped over an arm, and an army style satchel draped over his left shoulder. Tom considered him a minute. He'd gotten skinnier since Dublin and the fire. McRyan was a good three inches taller than Tom but looked like he weighed only half what Tom did. The man possessed hardened features. His face set severe, his eyes cold, uncaring, even slightly mocking. Tom remembered the man had an edge about him, he was not expecting the edge to be this sharp. Tom sighed, honked twice, and waved. McRyan spotted him, raised his chin in greeting and stepped into the street.

As he walked closer to the car Tom saw that McRyan had lost the jowls and any thickness in his neck. Ridges of lines ripped across his forehead meeting in the center cresting into a ridge. The man looked more like a released prisoner of war than a paper hanger. Yet his eyes burned with a new menace. Tom put McRyan's appearance down to the war.

Returning soldiers knew better than anyone how to live life and McRyan moved as if each day was a treasure hunt. He looked every inch the kind of man who would only be bored in a civilian's job. The man moved with a curious combination of purposeful aimlessness. As if he searched for a footrace start line, yet was determined to be the last man to begin. He dressed in a stylish pinstripe suit with a matching fedora. He bore no resemblance to the urchin Tom knew before the war, the lad who had gone off in '15, a loyal son, with the Royal Irish Rifles, but who had come back a radical.

McRyan greeted Tom with a broad smile tossing his bag into the back seat. He lit a cigarette. "Good to see you again Tommy."

"Imagine my shock when I get a telegram from you stating your arrival. Why are you here McRyan? I told you not to visit." Tom put the car in gear and steered into the lane.

"Tommy, I need a favor."

"I made myself clear. We're even. I'm done with you. After what I did for you in Dublin…" Tom was suddenly lost for words, "… well we're done. No more."

"Now Tommy, you know that's not how it works. You do something for me - I do something for you - you do something for me - and so on and so forth." He puffed his cigarette.

"No, you're ending your business with me today once I drop you at the inn. And you're going to be on the first train out of the village tomorrow."

McRyan exhaled then yanked the brake. Tom frantically worked the steering wheel to keep the car in the street. The car swerved to the right as Tom skidded to a stop, just missing a grocer's cart.

"What the... McRyan?" Tom shut the engine down then grabbed the man by the tie balling his right hand into a fist. "What are you doing here?"

"Take it easy Tommy. No need to abuse me. I came here for a number of reasons: one to light a candle for your dear departed wife, two to thank you again for all you did for me in Dublin, and three, to ask you for a wee favor. It's only going to cost you that one thing. I promise."

Tom searched McRyan's face. "What's that?"

McRyan cocked his head to the back seat. "Take care of my Mam's heirlooms." Then he patted his chest with two weathered paws as he took a deep breath. "Think to look for work here. Like this fresh Yorkshire air me."

"You? Honest work?" Tom thought about the implication. "So you left the republicans?" He asked. "I'll bet they were glad to see you leave."

"Got dangerous you know?" McRyan flicked his cigarette away.

"I don't believe you. Three years in the trenches and Ireland scared you? Are you serious?"

"I'm as sober as a judge Tommy."

Tom scratched his forehead. "I suppose you need help finding work?"

"That would be nice."

Tom bit his lip. He mulled it over. He shook his head. "I'm sure this is a mistake but…alright then. I'll make a couple calls, but you look too." Then Tom pointed between two buildings to a flight of stairs in the back leading to a forlorn door on the second floor of a slate grey structure. "There's you're room. I paid it for two nights for you. Ten bob." He held out his hand.

"You're not going to make a donation to the McRyan war relief fund are you?"

"Cash on the nail. Now!" Tom waited.

McRyan sighed handing the money over.

Tom cursed, then reached across McRyan, opened his door, and pushed him out. "Don't come skulking around Downton. I'll sic the police on you myself."

McRyan lit another cigarette in the middle of the street. A car and a truck passed him he called back, "Tommy has the respect gone out of our relationship?" He saluted turned and called back. "Take care of my bag will you?"

Tom glanced behind spotting the bag. Tom's face wrinkled with suspicion.

McRyan waved dismissively, "Easy Tommy easy, just hold on to it for a week or so. Feel better with them safe with you. As soon as I get my own place I'll come get it. I promise."

Tom glanced to the back spotting the hand carry. "Aren't you going to need your change of clothes?"

"No clothes in it, only Mam's keepsakes." McRyan turned to walk away sending Tom a back handed farewell.

#

Tom returned to the Abbey as the staff and workmen from the Ministry were readying the library. The Irish Free State representatives were due for talks soon with Baldwin's government. The sofas and settees had been moved to the gun room or billiards room. A mahogany conference table last used in the Dublin Post Office by the leaders of the Easter rebellion in '16' had been shipped specially from there. Lord Grantham had even moved his desk.

The Baldwin government was paying handsomely for the use of Downton. Tom had to admit the cash was a welcome addition at this time. Two men were balancing the conference table when one of them glanced under it bursting out with a loud guffaw, "Oh that little imp."

Sybbie crawled under the table imitating Isis's bark. She squealed with delight as the workmen laughed.

"Sybbie!" Tom cried. "Back upstairs now."

Sybbie was in the middle of performing her best imitation of Isis wagging her tail. "Look Papa I'm like 'sis!"

Tom grabbed his daughter, "Then I'll shake ye' like a pup." He lightly tickled her while growling.

Sybbie nearly lost her breath for all the giggling.

One workman stood back laughing with Sybbie and Tom. "Like my own sir."

"In London?" Tom asked.

The workman bowed his head. "No sir died of the flu in '19. I was still in France at the time."

Tom reached for the man's hand. "I'm sorry." He looked at Sybbie. "I lost her mother soon after she was born." Then Tom kissed the side of Sybbie's head.

"It's for those who remain that we live." The workman smiled.

Tom winked. "Well said man, well said." He thought Mary could benefit from that.

He'd handed Sybbie to a maid who took her to Nanny. "Now you be a good girl and I'll be back to tuck you in later tonight." He stroked her hair, gave her another kiss bidding her good bye. He was halfway out of the house when he remembered McRyan's bag. He retrieved it from the car and threw it in the bottom of his closet, but stared at the bag for a long few minutes. It wasn't a coincidence that McRyan arrived a week before the Anglo-Irish talks. Nothing that man did was by chance. Tom examined the bag: heavy, but not unduly so. It probably did contain just what McRyan said, mementoes and keepsakes. He even tried opening it but it was locked.

"It's probably nothing." He told himself. Nevertheless before he left for the Dower house he picked up the telephone and waited for the operator. When the woman connected Tom spoke slowly into the receiver, "Yes, I'd like to place a call to Scotland Yard please. Do you have a number?"

##


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

As soon as he entered her home Tom knew the Dowager Countess was in a mood. Her arthritis must have been bothering her again for she leaned heavily on her favorite cane. The old bird eschewed a walker or a wheel chair to cart her around. "The only wheels I'll be seen in, young man, will be an automobile. The chair is out."

Tom chuckled.

"Try my new favorite chocolate cake," Violet offered him a slice. She bit into a forkful herself washing it down with coffee followed by a pained expression. "I will never like coffee." She noticed Tom's expression of confusion explaining, "The only reason I'm drinking it is to prepare myself for the Levinson's. They drink coffee as if it were an American religion."

Tom stirred his own. "I like Mrs. Levinson, Harold too."

"Well you would. Now I mean that in the most positive way of course." Violet held up a hand as if to fend off any protest.

"How so?"

"You're the self-reliant type. So was Isidore Levinson, his son like him. The son is following in his footsteps only with building boats, bigger, faster what have you." She lifted an eyebrow, "Probably sells them to bootleggers and gangsters, but that's not why I wanted to see you." Violet asked expectantly, "Any news of Mary?"

"Actually I'll be seeing her tomorrow. I'm leaving early in the morning. I'll take Rose with me. A sudden meeting has come up." There was no need to concern Grandmamma with the fact that he was meeting with Scotland Yard's Special Patrol Group.

Back to Mary Tom went on. "Mary misses all here more than she'll let on. I feel the weight of her mood in the letters she writes. I don't think her heart's in looking for a social life."

"You have been so patient with her." Violet hesitated a moment then asked, "How long did it take you, when Sybil died, to choose life?"

Tom looked directly at her. "About two seconds after looking into Sybbie's face. I saw only the picture of her mother."

"Mary writes to tell she's being visited by two suitors." Granny would have winked if she thought it permissible for a woman of her station.

"I won't do any more investigating Gran." Tom took a bite of his cake thinking of how the first time seemed only to stir McRyan into some other nefarious plot. "I promised Mary."

"Oh my, now you're making promises." Granny motioned him to lend a hand. "Why don't we talk in the car? I should love a drive through the country. Would you mind?"

He helped her into a light jacket and down the steps. When he went to open the back door for her she asked him what he was doing. "Seating you in the back seat."

"Well how on earth are we to talk as we drive?" Violet climbed into the front seat next to him.

Tom cranked the motor then stepped around to the wheel. He released the hand brake and they were off. He kept the speed down so Violet could fully appreciate the landscape. She seemed very far away, deep in her own thoughts, excavating memories, as if part of her wasn't really next to him after all.

They drove past fallowed fields overgrown with weeds and shrubs from nearly ten years of neglect. When they approached tilled strips of land Tom answered her questions; what crop was which, what breed of sheep, what hay was that? They waved to a pair of shepherds driving their flock across the road into a neighboring pasture. He pointed to the oats ripening into a waving khaki gold curtain that in two weeks would be harvested. They passed abandoned farms being converted to estate operations. "I can find no one to farm these Gran, so we'll do it ourselves. McBee, Tennant, and Jones, all their boys died in the war, killed at the Somme, Passchendaele, or Vimy. We'll rent the houses to Solicitors, Engineers, or Accountants from York or Leeds as vacation or weekend homes, and then make use of the barns to store estate farm machinery."

On the return Violet asked him to stop at the stables. They waved to Gallion as he led out a new mare for exercise. Violet gazed at the barns. "This is where I told my husband I was expecting Robert, if I may be so gauche."

Tom smiled. "You really are a splendid old girl – you know that?"

"Why because I allow you to speak to me like that?"

"You know what I mean. Too many ladies would just have never spoken to me, ever. I would have been too far below them. You made me feel welcome. I admire you for that."

"My dear boy, you're part of the family, and Sybil loved you so." She swept her eyes around the stables as if she recalled every remembrance from her own life. She touched his arm, "We are Downton Tom. We are the stones in its buildings. Our memories are the mortar that binds us to this place. Our blood flows through Downton like the water in its streams." She glanced at him. "Yours too. You've loved and lost enough at Downton to know of what I speak."

"Gran, why are you telling me these things?"

"You must fight for Mary. My greatest fear is that she will make a hasty decision, marry someone who sees Downton as a way to save his own family." The countess shut her eyes as if seized by a premonition. She stomped her cane. "Promise me you'll fight for her Tom." Granny looked him in the eyes. "Promise me that you will challenge her and any decision she makes will have your counsel."

Tom patted her hand and nodded.

She took his hand. "Fight for her Tom."

#

Mary's nights were filled with men who treated her more as a goal than anything else. Oh it wasn't a horse race, she knew that. Yet she felt less like a desirable woman than a prize to be fought over by Bollingstoke or Conrad.

There were plenty others of course. McClintock, a Commodore whose flotilla sank four U-Boats once in a two day period during the war. Aberle, an oil field explorer with a deep tan earned in the sands of Arabia and Mesopotamia.

Her nights were filled with their stories, their conversations. She was a mere prop, dancing with them for their amusement and letting them fetch her cocktails. She learned to Charleston but still preferred a waltz to the clanging percussion of a Joplin rag. The most daring she thought herself capable of was a tango, but Bollingstoke was far too reserved for such adventure. She begged out of a shooting party at the home of Conrad when she sensed he was moving too fast.

Tom's violets were perched on a corner of her writing desk as she tried to pen a note asking him to forgive her; that they could not go on, that she was wrong to kiss him, that she was really not that good for him. _"…You should let me go, my fate is sealed…"_ She tried writing then quickly tore the letter up tossing it in the waste basket.

She shook her head, "He'd only write back and call me a liar." Which was true. Of course the rest of the story was that she longed for comfort. She longed for the quiet of home. The soiree set was all well and good but she was, at the end of the day, a country girl with country leanings and an affinity for the greenery of a landscape, not the slate gray of the city.

Life is for the living, Tom made her feel again. Yet she could not escape the obligations to Downton. And what about her son, and Sybbie? Certainly she had obligations to them as well? George needed a father he could look up to. Sybbie already thought of her as more mother than aunt. And Tom? She smiled how he would nap on the sofa in the library cradling George on his chest both of them sleeping in warm comfort. She brushed her lips with her fingers remembering that lakeside kiss. She winced when recalling how she slapped him. She grinned when thinking of the day George first crawled. Her heart leapt when she recalled Mr. Wells thinking them a beautiful family. She drew an abiding warmth as she recalled reading the Sundays with Tom or enjoying a night cap in the library at the end of day.

But then the reality of the impasse facing Downton beat her back into adherence to obligations: save Downton for George. "It's always about the money." She complained then sniffed the flowers. Tom had cared enough to send her favorites. Would Bollingstoke and Conrad have done the same?

#

After yet another evening where she heard too many men drone endlessly on about themselves Mary slipped into Rosamund's house well past midnight. She climbed the steps to her room and undressed. She felt heavy, immobile, weighed down as she was with the burden of Downton. She brushed her hair in silence, hung her dress on the rack to air, washed her face, and applied lotion to her hands reflecting on the evening and how uneventfully dull everything was. She was sick of Conrad's incessant banter over yet another business opportunity. Bollingstoke could only really speak about the need for professional management of estates, as if Tom were not talented enough to manage Downton on his own.

As she laid waiting for sleep she thought how comforting Tom was compared to the men she dined with. "My oak and my staff," she pulled out the photo of the two of them holding their children; she propped the photo on the bed stand, "Goodnight Tom," she whispered, or was it a prayer?

#

The next morning Rosamund put down the newspaper as Mary strolled into the parlor. Mary thanked her for the breakfast call apologizing for being out so late. Rosamund just smiled "How are you getting on with Count Conrad?"

Mary flopped into a chair opposite Rosamund. "I very much doubt it will lead anywhere."

"Dear, you're not getting younger. You must take into account your position and the responsibility you have to George."

"Aunt Rosamund marriage should be more than an arrangement of assets."

"Why? It's been that way forever, and probably always will be. It is the way of our world."

Mary looked at Rosamund "Tom's right, the world is changing. I'm beginning to think it for the best. "

"Very insightful dear, does he have a plan how to forge his way ahead in this new world?"

"I know you don't think very highly of him but he's actually a very wonderful man. In so many ways he's much better than the men I dined with last night." Mary played pensively with the charm at the end of her necklace.

"He's getting to you isn't he?"

"I'd be a liar if I said no." Mary gazed at her Aunt. "But trust me Aunt Rosamund I know my duty."

Rosamund touched Mary lightly. "Don't be so eager to my dear. He may be oil to your water to some. But to others he might be more like the cowboy, the new thinker Downton needs. Different tastes can make excellent matches."

"Rosamund, I thought you didn't like Tom Branson."

"I never said anything of the sort. I merely challenged you to see how you would react." Rosamund folded the paper for later reading. She took a breath. "Mary, Marmaduke was not the wealthy man when we married. Oh he was comfortable, but not rich. What he was though was talented, intelligent, and persistent. I loved him in spite of Mama's reservations. We had two wonderful children and shared a delightful life."

Mary shook her head in disbelief. "Are you championing Tom?"

"Well I'm not blind. I can see how burdened you are. Whenever a letter comes from Downton you brighten." She took Mary's hand. "It has an essence of synchronicity to it, you and Tom, George and Sybil."

"Just take your time, be sure. If it comes to a head with your father, as I presume it will, I'll stand up for you."

Mary caught her breath. She relaxed and felt her eyes begin to tear. "I don't know what to say."

Rosamund embraced Mary. "You needn't say anything. Be happy. He will be here this afternoon; something about a hurriedly scheduled meeting for tomorrow morning. He's bringing Rose. Cora would like us to chaperone her to a night club called the 'Blue Nile'. Need I ask if you'd like to come?"

##


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

When Tom came into the nursery Cora was reading to Sybbie from a picture book about a dapper rabbit. She paused now and again pointing out a color portrait to the little girl. "Ma, I'm off to London tomorrow, a hurried appointment for the day after tomorrow."

"That was sudden. Is anything wrong?" Cora frowned.

"No just something I put off for too long. I'll motor to York early tomorrow then catch the south express to London." He did not tell Cora the appointment was with Scotland Yard.

"Oh take Rose would you?" Cora closed the story book and released her granddaughter to Tom's waiting arms. George looked on from his playpen. "Rose has wanted a trip for weeks."

"Certainly I'll take her; but I'm not certain I can be a chaperone. She's quite the escape artist that one."

"Tom, you were her age once. You know how important it is to do exciting things."

Sybbie giggled, holding her hands up for her father. Cora brushed a hand over her granddaughter's hair as Tom picked her up. "She has her mother's eyes doesn't she?" Cora blew a kiss. Sybbie caught it and rubbed her cheek as if she could rub the sentiment deeper.

"But back to Rose, I would have asked Edith to take her but she's in France touring the sites selected for war memorials."

Sybbie rested her head on Tom's shoulder. "Someone's nap time is nigh." He whispered.

Then Tom chuckled into Sybbie's cheek then answered Cora, "Alright I'll take Rose. But I warn you, it won't do much good. She can escape from anyone faster than Houdini."

He let Sybbie down and picked up George. The little boy reached for Tom's nose blowing little bubbles. Turning to Sybbie he asked her if she would watch over Geory. Sybbie bent low, kissed George's forehead and patted his shoulder. "I watch you Geory." The baby flayed his arms, kicked his legs and tried to squirm out of Tom's hands.

Cora gazed wistfully. "Look at these two Tom. They get along like brother and sister. Neither can do without the other for very long it's so touching. Sybbie is the delight of my life Tom. I don't know what I would have done without you both after we lost Sybil." Cora brushed Tom's arm while looking into his eyes, "Thank you for staying."

#

The next morning Jimmy took Rose's suitcase downstairs as Tom kissed Sybbie goodbye. The little girl barely stirred in her bed as Tom padded out of her room. Thomas carried shoes and a garment bag, "Your evening clothes Mr. Branson. I blacked, and buffed your shoes as well."

"Thank you Thomas but I didn't ask anyone to pack for me."

"Lady Rose asked me to." Thomas straightened realizing he'd been had.

Tom laughed it off, "Evidently I have plans for tonight."

Cora approached them in the entryway as they waited for Rose. "I called Rosamund to let her know to expect you. She's sending a cab to meet you at Kings Cross. If you get a chance drop in on Robert at his club, let him know the menu for the Irish talks has been set and Mrs. Patmore is collecting the necessary ingredients. And tell Mary to get back home."

Tom gave Cora a peck on the cheek, "I'll try to see Lord Grantham but if I cannot, I'll call at the least."

Rose clattered down the hall only to breeze past them with a windy "Good morning," and an apology for being late. She clutched a small bag then watched as Jimmy strapped the suitcase to the boot.

After last farewells Tom and Rose drove out of the gate to Downton. Rose immediately asked Tom if he would chaperone her to the Blue Nile nightclub later that night.

"So that's why my dinner clothes are going along?"

"It is."

Tom tried to look put out but gave it up immediately. "Well, if you get the Blue Nile I get to take two beautiful women, and you, to Rules." He winked.

Rose played with a pout, "Oh you're impossible. Are you still mad at me for calling Mary an old prude? Well it's true. Any woman would kill to get you to look her way and here she is pursuing financial security from men about as exciting as mummies. Besides, I know you're joking."

"Am I?" Tom tried to be serious then laughed. "Alright, I'm a poor fibber." He sighed, "So, I'll take THREE beautiful women to the Blue Nile." He shook his head in mock frustration.

Rose jumped up and down in the seat clapping her hands, "Oh nifty we'll have so much fun!" She settled down and leaned against the door. "Are you looking forward to seeing Mary?"

"I am."

"Are you in love with her?"

"That's none of your business." Tom glanced over to her.

"Well I think it would be a brilliant match. I can see how good you two are together at your work. And you speak so kind and thoughtful to one another; completely unlike some parents I know." Rose stared out the side panel window.

"Thank you Rose. That means much. But I'm still not saying anything about Mary." Tom smiled as they drove on the rest of the way in silence.

#

When Mary heard Mead greet Tom and Rose in the foyer she jumped off her bed, smoothed her dress, and checked her appearance in the mirror. She heard the kiss Rosamund give her cousin, and heard her ask Tom about Sybbie, Granny, Cora and George. As she reached the stairs she saw Tom hold a valise asking Rosamund where he could keep it, "For my meeting tomorrow." He said as he fixed his eyes up to her.

Rosamund was trying to say something but Mary could not make it out. She balanced each step holding on to the banister while staring at Tom the entire way. "I thought I heard a familiar voice," she breathed. He smiled at her in a manner she would later tell him felt as if she had already come home; as if she were the only woman in the room that mattered.

Then, realizing he'd dropped the conversation with Rosamund Mary watched as he tried to shift his attention back. "I'm sorry Lady Rosamund."

"I was asking what is in the case Tom."

"Items I'll need for the meeting." Tom may have been speaking to Rosamund but he was reaching for Mary's hand.

"Your flowers were just the tonic I needed." Mary interrupted. "Thank you for the lovely note. Two words never had such powerful effect. The children are well?"

"Geory misses his mother, Sybbie her aunt. And Anna asked me to thank you for her holiday with Mr. Bates."

Rosamund inserted herself between Tom and Mary. "I hate to interrupt old home day but Mead and staff have put together a light luncheon for us. We don't want to waste their work do we?" Turning to her Butler she asked him to take Mr. Branson's valise to his room after luncheon. She turned her attention to Tom. "Now, fill me in on all the preparations for the Irish State talks. Downton hasn't seen such excitement in ages."

#

After eating Tom caught Mary's attention. "Fancy a stroll?"

Mary brightened at that. "Let me fetch my hat."

Rose excused herself citing a need to nap for the good times later, and to try on her new dress.

Once she was gone Rosamund leaned in to Tom. "You're still in the game. The flowers were brilliant."

"You tilt your head just like your mother when you're sharing a confidence Lady Rosamund."

"Mary's been miserable these past weeks Tom; far too quiet, too reserved. This was the brightest I have seen her since she's been here." Rosamund sighed.

"Good."

"What is it between you two?"

Tom didn't answer Rosamund at first. He carefully considered what, and how, he was going to say what he had to say. Finally he looked his aunt-in-law in the eye, "We've experienced the most wretched thing any human being can live through: burying loves decades before their time. We speak the same language of grief. We know that anyone who comes along later will need to live with the memories of Matthew and Sybil."

"But can you love anyone like you did Sybil?"

Tom winced. "I'll never be able to love anyone like I loved her. And neither will Mary be able to love anyone like she did Matthew. She and I are like wrecks limping into port. We know what the other lost; we know what the other's going through. We don't have to explain ourselves when one goes quiet with sadness, or freezes with guilt. Even laughing again is cause to look over our shoulders as if we're asking permission of Sybil, or Matthew. But the strangest part is this: without giving it voice, we each want the other to find love again."

"You wish for her to find it?"

"With all my heart."

Rosamund looked away for only a second then turned back to him. "What if finding someone to love doesn't mean you?"

"Then I'll be the first to congratulate the man, and, if I may, tell him that any man who loves Mary would have to be able to face what it means."

"Which is?" Rosamund was fascinated.

"Loving Mary is as deliciously exciting as running downhill with your eyes closed."

Mary's footsteps sounded in the hall. He excused himself from the table to meet her in the hall. He returned Rosamund's smile, "Time to run recklessly downhill."

#

After they were away from the house Mary slipped her arm through his. "I missed our walks; I missed our chats; your touch; your warmth."

"Ready to come home?" Tom led her across the street.

"What is at home except more panic about what to do about a failing estate?"

"Your son; your god-daughter; and me."

Mary looked away from him as he turned his head to her. "I know Tom; like you keep telling me, we'll be fine." She shook her head. "I wish I had your confidence."

"Our forage will be the best in Yorkshire. I'm no judge of horses but you and Gallion are. He says we have fine yearlings. All we'll need is to win a race or two; we'll have the world at our door."

They strolled aimlessly on a few more blocks. Mary finally broke the silence, "I must say your optimism buoys me. It's infectious." She patted his arm. "Not to change the subject but what business do you have tomorrow?"

"I've been struggling with a way to tell you. I'm meeting a man from Scotland Yard."

"What on earth for?" Mary caught her breath.

"Remember when Sybil and I spoke of a fellow named McRyan?"

"Yes, Sybil liked him enough, said he reminded her of many of the soldiers she nursed through the war."

"Yes and no, she read him the riot act when he and his team set fire to the Dublin house. She said he'd used me to whip the crowd into a frenzy; I didn't disagree with her." Tom motioned to a bench. "Well, he's in the village."

"But that's not all?"

"Not with the Anglo-Irish talks so soon, no." Tom shook his head. "So I thought, better safe than sorry, contact Scotland Yard and get it all over with. Besides, it ended up being an opportunity to see you."

"Is there any danger to Downton, the children?" Her eyes widened.

"I don't think so. It's just not coincidental he arrives just before the delegations. I'll know more tomorrow; now as for tonight? I'm going to enjoy myself with roast pheasant at Rules then escort three beautiful women to the Blue Nile."

Mary grinned as she leaned into him. "Tom Branson, you have become quite the charmer."

#

The Blue Nile was in the basement of an old woolen mill last used to make uniforms for the Army. After the war it became a venue for catering to the riverine population working day labor on Thames docks. It booked chancy acts no other club dared schedule thus drawing in a gentrified crowd following the Jazz and Latin sounds popularized by the movies. A pair of ice boxes, a small stage in the corner, a long bar, and a clutch of bistro tables were all that made up one of the most popular attractions in all London.

Concrete steps led down to a speakeasy door with a trap slot where customers would gain entry. Unnecessary of course but the door only added to the ambiance of taboo, mimicking as it did, Prohibition America.

Rose led the way, in a sequined dress that Mary still thought showed far too much leg. "You're right Rose; I guess I am an old frump." She joked as Tom helped the ladies out of the taxi.

As they entered a man in tie and tails acknowledge Tom, eyed the women with him appreciatively, and called for a waiter. A short round man in a white suit and red fez came up. The maître de pointed to a table near the dance floor and in a French accent ordered, "Amar, show Lucky Luc and his women table five."

Every man in the club turned their heads enviously to their table. Another waiter dressed like the first took drink orders as two men invited Rose and Rosamund to the dance floor.

Rosamund winked at Mary, "Oh I like this," as the man led her out to the dance floor.

"I've learned the Charleston." Mary said.

"We'll have to dance; Sybil taught me basic steps and claimed I could learn anything."

"And what did you teach her?"

"To reel." Tom laughed. "She danced as good as any Celt."

Just then the band broke into an up tempo rendition of the Charleston. Tom extended his hand. "May I have this dance, My Lady?"

Mary took his hand, "And who taught you to Charleston, Rose?"

"Edith."

Mary laughed as they started out slow then kicked up the speed a bit. After a few minutes of box stepping, knee bending, and cross stepping the bandleader stood up and announced to the patrons in Spanish that they would play a tango for the daring souls in the house.

"Shall we?" Tom took her hands in his.

"I know the steps but have never tried." Mary gave him a rueful look that changed to a smile as he pressed his hand against the small of her back.

"It's very simple Mary. All you need is to do what I do."

"Sounds reasonable, but if you trip over me, I'm never speaking to you again." She smirked, "Isn't the tango supposed to be too risqué for polite company?"

"True, but then again, I'm Irish and supposed to be a passionate cuss." She laughed so hard her forehead wrinkled. She placed her hand into his and positioned the other against his shoulder.

When the concertina started, a pair of violins followed with a plinking four-eighths rhythm as Tom led her in a series of steps first sideways, then back the way they'd come.

Back and forth she felt him control every step as if she was soaring over earth on a flying carpet. She caught her breath as he spun her. "My god, who taught you this?"

"Edith again," he managed, "I only dropped her twice."

Mary threw her head back in laughter then squeezed his shoulder as they stepped cheek to cheek. He turned his head slightly and whispered, "We have a chance Mary. You make life worth it all over again." He whispered to her.

She gazed into his eyes searching for a shred of doubt that she could use but saw none. Finally, she decided he must know, "That's the rub Tom. I'm afraid; I'm so afraid to love you; afraid that you'll meet the same fate as Matthew. Every man I've ever loved has died." She studied his blue eyes, caressing one cheek with her hand. "I'm like a Black Widow spider Tom, run away from me."

Tom stroked her cheek with his hand as he looked into her eyes while stepping with her into a tighter circle. Finally he lifted her cheek and kissed her, "Then sting me love."

From their table Rose and Rosamund watched Tom and Mary. "I never knew Mary had it in her." Rose said to Rosamund, "And Tom, I never knew he was such a…a…such a passionate dancer."

Rosamund turned sharply. "My dear, never underestimate what a man is capable of when he loves a woman."

"Are they in love?" Rose stared.

Rosamund nodded. "If they aren't they should be. This is the first time she has truly enjoyed herself since she's been here."

##


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

In the bowels of Scotland Yard Tom sat on a common wooden bench outside a nondescript office. To say he felt uncomfortable would not have been honest with the severity of his churning nerves. He'd been waiting a half hour and was worried the detective he spoke to over the telephone the other day had overlooked their meeting. He balanced the valise on his lap tapping his heel in a frenetic tick.

If one split the hairs of legality he was still in violation of the law - in Ireland. Yet here he was meeting with a man from the Yard's Special Patrol Group. Since he was in England he was supposed to be safe. Still the fact that he was in the den of the police was disconcerting.

A bookish man of common height worked his way gingerly down the hall with two cups of steaming tea aiming for him. He had a pinched face that tapered to a pointed chin that he attempted to broaden with an elegant goatee. His eyes were set close, his mouth barely visible through the mustache. He wore pants too large and a jacket too short. Tom wondered how in the world the man had been able to pass the Constable exam.

"Mr. Branson?" The man gave Tom a quick once over.

"I am Inspector Soames." He stopped at the door. He indicated the knob, with an embarrassed titter, "I'm sorry, would you mind?"

Tom reached for the door handle following Soames into a small office with stacks of papers piled into five different columns with no semblance of order. Each pile looked as if a slight wind could topple them at any minute.

Soames set the teas down, sat in his chair, rolled his shoulders then adjusted his seat. He cleared his throat, studied Tom over tented fingers and sniffed. "Right then, you're the Republican who reported McRyan?"

"Yes. I have larger concerns; she's this tall you see." Tom held one hand a couple feet off the floor.

"The little girl's name is Sybil am I right? After her mum?"

"Correct."

"Very good. Well, let me fill you in Mr. Branson, on your friend: James McRyan is wanted in Ireland for some random and fairly petty violations. He is suspected to be affiliated with a Republican battalion operating around Dublin; we are unsure in what capacity." He pushed one of the teas to Tom. "Since he is in England his situation is not unlike your own: we watch him but he's done nothing to warrant being picked up, on probation so to speak." Soames sipped his tea then pulled a file from the middle of a column on the right side of his desk. He ran a finger up and down a few pages then with a hearty "humph" slammed the file shut. "We can't finger McRyan for any specific crime but his influence is in many, as you yourself undoubtedly presume."

"I'm also an Irishman and crimes to you are struggles for justice to me."

"That may be true Mr. Branson that may be so. Regardless I am tasked with enforcing the law as it is presently written so that is the prism through which I see this man. You of course have your own prism."

"Fairly said." Tom nodded.

"Intelligence on McRyan indicates he was last known to be working directly under Michael Collins. He has had some business dealings in the recent past with some shady American characters running whiskey around the prohibition amendment; silly law that. In short we suspect him in many things but can pin nothing to him mind." Soames set his tea aside. "You did the right thing coming to us. If McRyan is at Downton, he's not there for the fresh Yorkshire air, especially with the talks going on between His Majesty's government and the Irish Free State legation. I think an interview with the man is warranted. May I see the valise?"

Tom handed the bag over to Soames who took out a pair of thin rods. One was filed to a flat point the other slightly curved into a lazy hook. He inserted one into the lock then the other. For a few seconds he twisted and turned his tools left and right, up and down, until Tom heard two clicks.

"Ah," Soames smiled, brushed his mustache with a flourish, "Now we'll see what kind of mementoes and keepsakes your countryman has been carting around."

Soames lifted the lid to expose a thick envelope resting on a folded woolen wrap. Soames lifted it out setting it aside. He grunted as if disappointed then drew back the blanket to expose stacks of money denominated in American $100 bills.

Soames whistled.

"Jesus, Mary, Joseph." Tom swallowed hard, "There must be a million dollars in there."

Soames was laconic, "This explains Mr. McRyan's business dealings. We will have to hold this as evidence." The Inspector pulled an inventory sheet from his desk. Next he called the desk Sergeant for a junior Constable to count the American cash.

"But this doesn't explain why he's at Downton." Tom insisted.

"No it does not. I'll ask the Home Office to send another security team to Downton, as a precaution; for the safety of the legations."

Tom reached for his hat, "Am I free to leave?"

"Just one more thing if you please, would you verify Mr. McRyan's photograph? There's always the possibility the man you know as McRyan may indeed be someone else."

He led Tom over to a table with a scrapbook labeled 'Rogues Gallery'. As Soames leafed through the alphabet from the back he turned pages forward to the front of the alphabet. Tom caught a familiar image and held back Soames' hand when he was in the S section; "I've seen this man before."

Soames examined the photo and caught his breath. "This man here? Where?"

"He said he was sent from London to set up the conference room for the talks, and that he lost his daughter in '19 to the influenza."

"You're certain? There's no question?"

"Entirely none."

"Then it's imperative we get to Downton immediately. That man is among the most wanted in the Empire. His name is Ernest Slowther; a more cutthroat anarchist never existed. "He's also one of the best bomb makers in Ireland." Soames grabbed his overcoat off a rack as a uniformed officer came in to take inventory of the cash. He turned to Tom, "How are you getting back?"

"Catching the Great Northern to York then driving from there."

"I'll ride with you. Let me draw a firearm and we'll be off."

Tom asked to use the phone to make a phone call to Mary.

Soames caught his attention. "Say nothing as to why you're coming back."

When Mary got to the line he could tell she detected the fear in his voice. "What is it Tom?"

"I can't tell you why, but the Inspector and I are leaving for Downton in a few minutes. Can you have Mead pack for me?"

"Are the children, is Downton in danger?"

"Not right now. The talks don't start for two days."

"Tom you're scaring me. I'm meeting you at King's Cross I can have Rose pack for us both."

Soames was back a few minutes later shoving a revolver into a shoulder holster.

"Lady Mary will be joining us for the trip back to Downton. She'll meet us at the platform." Tom looked at the constable still counting the stacks of American currency.

Soames studied Tom a second. "As an Estate Manager to an English Earl I trust you are on our side of this particular fight?"

Tom nodded his agreement.

"Are you familiar with firearms Mr. Branson?" Soames queried as he stuffed a box of shells into a jacket pocket.

"It's not going to get that bad will it?"

"I hope not, still it might be best to select a few trusted men to help secure Downton. If Slowther's been in the house you have a problem. Good show for tipping us when you did. We have a chance at avoiding a tragedy."

#

As the train slowed into York Mary spotted Tom's car first from their compartment. She touched his arm, "Tom I'm worried about the children."

"I'll drive as quickly as I can, not to fear."

Soames checked the parking lot, ensured he knew what car to get to then started for the station office. "Give me five minutes to check in with the Yard and we'll be off."

Mary got into the car while Tom cranked the engine. They idled in the parking space as the motor warmed. "I wish Soames would hurry Tom." Then frustration overtook her she slapped her hands on her lap, "How ludicrous to host talks with people that are still fighting a war."

Tom looked at her with sympathy, "I'm not trying to apologize for anyone but it's the only way the war will end."

Mary's face softened, "I'm just worried for the children is all." Then she looked sideways at him, "Last night was lovely. But I meant what I said, I'm trouble Tom. Everyone I love suffers tragedy."

"And I meant what I said." Tom leaned over and wrapped her into his arms. "Oh Mary, I can't promise that nothing will happen. It takes courage to live and love. You must know that."

"Even if I can never love you like Matthew?"

"I'm not asking you to love me like you did Matthew. I'm just asking you to love me as you would love me."

Tom caressed her cheek, gazed into her eyes and whispered. "Both Sybil and Matthew wouldn't stand in our way, you know that." He lifted her chin and kissed her. She sank deeply into his arms as if surrendering to her own dreams. All she could vocalize was a barely audible sigh.

Soames stood outside the car clearing his throat. It sounded to Tom like a crack of thunder in a summer storm. "I do dislike interrupting sir yet the fact remains that we must get on the road as quickly as possible."

"We have time, we'll get there." Tom put the car in gear and with Soames in the back they made their way to Downton.

The drive home was faster than a road race. Tom took no chances but Soames remarked that had the situation not been so urgent he would have been obliged to cuff Tom for traffic violations large and small.

As soon as they arrived Tom and Mary ran for the nursery. Nanny was with baby George who squealed with delight to see the pair. When Mary went to pick him up he lifted his arms for both of them.

Tom hooked one hand around Mary while giving George a happy face, "Look who I brought back for you." Tom kissed the boy's forehead. "Where's Sybbie?" He asked Nanny.

"Oh she wanted to be with Mrs. Hughes in the library sir. Mrs. Hughes said it was fine and took Miss Sybil to watch."

Mary gave George back to Nanny then followed Tom out the door.

In the library Soames was already interrogating Mrs. Hughes. Sybbie was imitating Isis under the table with occasional yips.

Mary glanced at Tom, her face twisted into a question. Tom shrugged his shoulders, "A latest enthusiasm of hers, it's quite fun to see her imitating Isis wag her tail." Soon a squeal and peel of laughter brought Sybbie out from under the table. "Mamma, Papa!" The little girl jumped into Mary's arms."

As Mary lavished Sybbie with kisses and hugs Tom leaned in to his daughter. "Oh darling', I missed you more than words can say."

Sybbie began to relate all the excitement happening in the house with workmen, the maids cleaning around the entire library.

Mrs. Hughes was answering a battery of questions from Soames; "Why no Inspector, the workmen never went upstairs nor down. I'll ask Mr. Carson to make sure but no one from outside the house has been anywhere but the library, saloon, and entry." She looked worried. "What is all this about Mr. Branson? Lady Mary?"

"There may be something afoot to disrupt the Irish talks." Mary answered as she nuzzled Sybbie.

"Sybbie dear have you seen the nice man who set up the table?" Tom petted Sybbie's hair.

"He's silly Papa."

"Why?"

"He fixed the clock with sticks." Sybbie pointed to the clock on the mantle over the fireplace. Soames and Tom looked at one another then ran to it.

Soames got to the clock first and gingerly examined it. "There's a slight chip on the back where it looks like the wood has been damaged. He pulled out his tools and delicately, slowly pried the back away from the timepiece. "Oh god," Soames stepped away for Tom to examine two rolls of dynamite wrapped into three stick bundles. They were set into the body of the clock. Thin electric wires ran from the explosive to a timer, then to the central winding unit. "Ingenious Mr. Branson, the butler himself would be the unwitting assassin ensuring the clock is adequately wound each evening. The master meter is set for three days at eleven in the morning."

Tom turned to Mrs. Hughes, "Get everyone in the house into the saloon now. We have to search the entire mansion."

Soames barked at the Constables who met them at the front. He pointed to the man on the right, "Get to a telephone and request an Army be sent to Downton immediately." He ordered the other to accompany him and Tom.

Tom took Mary's hand. Firm yet calm Tom spoke to Mary, "Get the children to safety at Granny's house. Soames and I are going to have a talk with Mr. McRyan."

#

Soames had his revolver drawn as Tom rapped on the door to McRyan's room at the Inn for the third time. "McRyan, open up, we're on to you. For the last time now, open up!" When there was no answer Soames had the Constable with them force the door open. Soames went in first followed by Tom, followed by the Constable.

McRyan sat propped against the far wall at the bottom of a wide red streak of dried blood where he'd slid after being knifed. "He's still alive." Soames shouted to the constable. Run for your local doctor man and be quick!"

"Mick, Mick," Tom stuffed a pillow behind him. "We've sent for a doctor. What happened?"

McRyan looked weakly at Tom then to Soames. "Good to finally meet you Soames." He looked back at Tom trying his best to focus his eyes. "The man's the best the Yard has Tommy. Thought that grip of mine would do the trick."

"Mick we know about Slowther, what happened?"

"I got cocky; this was too far from me." He indicated a Russian made revolver. "By the time I had it in my hand, Slowther had me to rights. Stuck me before I knew what had happened."

Soames spoke up, "McRyan, how many are with Slowther?"

"Alone, isn't he enough?" McRyan looked weakly into Tom's eyes. "Lady Sybil was a true lass my friend. I'm sorry you lost her, I am. Got the candle lit for her at Saint Margaret's at least."

"Why are you here?" Soames asked.

"Collins sent me. Watch over the delegation, I thought I was being discreet but Slowther must have spotted me when I applied for a job as a temporary footman."

"What about the money in the valise?" Tom asked.

"I earned that fair up: Sold whiskey to some Canadian gent. He paid for it in American though, but came by the cash honest, or so he says." McRyan's words were slower, weaker.

Tom and Soames tried to staunch McRyan's bleeding but made scant progress. A few minutes later Isobel Crawley was led up the stairs by the Constable. She greeted Tom, "Dr. Clarkson is out on another call." She examined McRyan's wounds snipping the fabric of his shirt away from his back. After a short look she caught Tom's eye before lowering her own.

McRyan glanced up at Isobel. "I know ma'am. I'm napoo I know, won't be long now I'll join me dead chums."

Tom whispered if there was anything he could do for McRyan.

"Stop Slowther, it may not be everything we wanted but a Free State will be a start."

"But what can I do?" Tom asked again.

"Stop the man Tommy. Stop him any way you can 'fore it's too late. He'll not stop until the talks fail."

Tom took McRyan's hand in his own. "I promise Mick, I promise. Then as if combining prayer and oath Tom whispered, "_Éire go Brách, _I'm sorry I doubted you mate."

"_Éire go Brách_" McRyan managed to say before he slipped away.

##


	12. Chapter 12

_Many thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review previous chapters, I am so very grateful that you took the time to write down your sentiments. This chapter is rated T for some violence._

**Chapter 12**

Isobel glanced over to Tom as the constable and Soames wrapped McRyan into a sheet from the bed. "You knew the man?"

"It's a long story."

Soames gathered McRyan's documents and weapon, "Mr. Branson, get back to Downton with Constable Barnes. Make certain the mansion is evacuated. You'll want to assemble a few men. They must scour the estate for Slowther before Lord Grantham's return tomorrow."

Soames looked blankly at the wall thinking out loud, "We'll have to get a message to him. We have twenty four hours to find Slowther and clap him into irons." He handed McRyan's revolver and a box of bullets to Tom, "Take these, for your own protection. I must emphasize how dangerous this man is. If an independent Ireland means anything to you we must stop him."

"I understand." With that Tom and Barnes were off to the house.

Soames wasted no time. He ran to the telegraph office after McRyan was taken to the undertaker. Isobel was off to the clinic to assemble a medical kit for the Dower House.

When Tom and Constable Barnes arrived at Downton he posted the man at the front door to meet the army unit that was on the way. "I'll get a maid out here with some tea for you," Tom left the man.

Upon entering he saw that Carson had the entire downstairs staff huddled into a semi-circle in the saloon. The butler turned to acknowledge Tom. "Mr. Branson we have been advised by the authorities to evacuate the house. Is this true?"

"Yes Carson it's true." He held up an index finger for the man to pause as Mary rushed from the library "Tom, Mamma and Anna took the children to Grand mamma. Farmer Oakwell and his son are watching the house, shotguns in hand."

"Very good." Tom laced his fingers through Mary's. He beckoned Carson, Mrs. Hughes, and Thomas for a quick huddle. Tom spoke calmly, deliberately, and clearly.

Years later, when Tom ran for Parliament, Carson would relate the tale of that night to voters: how Tom possessed a calm authority; that he seemed to know exactly what to do, that it was a source of deep comfort for all of them on such a frightening night.

Tom began with the worst of the bad news, "A bomb has been found in the library near the conference table to be used by the negotiators. The army is sending a unit to conduct a thorough search of the house. We must get everyone out except for a small crew. Mrs. Hughes, please make certain everyone has a place to spend the night. Can Mrs. Patmore manage something for dinner?"

Mrs. Hughes nodded her head.

Tom turned to Carson. "Ask for volunteers to stay in the house until the all clear is sounded, if no one joins assign three men and two women. They will escort the military personnel as they search. We don't want anything of value walking away."

Carson looked at Mary.

"I agree," she nodded.

"Thomas, please call Gallion and the gamekeeper to round up a few of the farmers for a search."

"How many men Mr. Branson?"

"At least a dozen, more if you can persuade them."

"What can I do?" Mary asked.

"We'll need a centralized location to record the clearance of every room in the house. We'll use it as a central hub where the stay behind staff, police, and army can coordinate."

Carson interjected, "I should be glad to offer my office sir. I have all the plans of the structure."

Tom nodded, "Thank you Carson." Then he turned to Mrs. Hughes, ",We want everything and every room searched every floor, every closet. As each room is searched mark it off, send a report to Carson and Lady Mary." Tom examined everyone's faces for any lack of resolve but found none. He squeezed Mary's hand, "Right, then let's go."

#

A platoon of from Catterick Camp made it to Downton a few minutes after most of the house had been evacuated. The officer in charge, a Captain who had survived the trenches met Carson's volunteers in the saloon. After breaking down into teams he and a pair of soldiers searched both ends of the libraries. They operated under Thomas's watchful eye so as to demonstrate the preferred way each team should conduct a search. An older Sergeant with a pair of missing fingers watched two soldiers gingerly remove the bomb in the clock placing it in a heavy metal case before taking it outside to completely disarm.

Immediately afterward the officer in charge sent the teams on their way through the house. Very soon after the team in the Library called Tom back into the room, "You'd better see this Mr. Branson."

Carson and Soames followed Tom. The officer pulled back a cabinet door hidden between the wall and Robert's credenza. Inside were five more rolls of dynamite wrapped into three stick bundles. No wiring lead to a timer. The entire apparatus appeared inert. "Oh I shouldn't think that sir." The Captain quickly corrected Tom. "The bomb in the clock would have been sufficiently powerful to create a sympathetic detonation of this one. No one would have walked out of the library or saloon alive; and half of anyone else in the drawing room or music room would have been severely injured." He looked around with an all-encompassing appreciation. "I daresay this grand old mansion would be so damaged she would have to come down the rest of the way."

Tom, Carson, and Thomas looked at one another in disbelief. Finally Tom spoke, "I think we have a pair of guardian angels on our side."

Soames spoke up, "That's why we're here everyone. To find anything that could doom these talks." Soames patted Tom's shoulder, "We have a good chance of finding Slowther."

"Well we should," Tom mused, "A dozen men from the estate searching the countryside; a platoon of soldiers searching the house, and the police scouring the villages around the abbey."

By this time darkness had set in broken only by a full moon peeking sporadically through the clouds. Soames and Tom stepped down to the kitchen passing a team of soldiers under the watchful eyes of a junior house maid as they searched cabinets, baskets, and drawers. They walked into the staff hall to see that Mary had set up the hub there so couriers could obtain refreshment after turning in their reports. Tom heard Mary on the telephone in Carson's office.

Mrs. Patmore was already pouring two cups of tea for the men. As he sat down Tom sighed, "I didn't know how tired my feet were."

Soames agreed. "You should know I called my office and spoke with the Detective Constable counting Mr. McRyan's money. He told me that there was over a million American dollars. When I asked him about the envelope atop the blanket the man said the most remarkable thing."

"Which was." Tom yawned.

"It was McRyan's last will and testament."

"Go on." Tom leaned forward.

"He said since he had no family, he was leaving everything to you. Said he knew how the entire Dublin event led to a great deal of unnecessary suffering on your part. Unfortunate of course that he smuggled foreign currency past duties and customs, but even with the fines and taxes you'll have to pay, you're going to be coming into a nice little pot of cash someday soon."

Tom ran a hand through his head. "I will not accept it. He probably made it from illegal liquor sales to gangsters. I'd be as wrong as a bootlegger."

Soames chuckled. "Mrs. Crawley at the inn said you were a man of principles. She said it would be hard for you to accept such a windfall. I think she may have an idea or two for how to ease your conscience."

Mary walked into the servant's hall with a roll of schematics of the house. When she saw Mrs. Patmore she asked why she didn't evacuate like most of the house staff, "And why the rolling pin?"

"Bomb or no bomb I'm staying put milady." Mrs. Patmore shook her rolling pin in one hand, "What with a whole troop of Tommies snooping about the house, and that lot always hungry they'll raid the pantry quicker than you can say 'mutt and Jeff!'"

Mary smiled, "I'm sure that Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes have them sufficiently watched over Mrs. Patmore. There should be nothing to fear from soldiers conducting a search."

She walked around the table to sit next to Tom. She flipped a stray lock of hair from his face winking slightly.

Soames looked from Tom to Mary, "To set your minds at ease I'll say we've probably found everything there is to find already."

Carson entered then and sat down at the head of the servants table. "I can't tell you my lady how uncomfortable I am over all this. Maps strewn about my office; you sitting here at table like a common housemaid."

"Carson I will not hide from protecting my family and home."

Tom looked from Mary to Carson to Soames, "But why here? We're only hosting the Banking and Agriculture Committees."

Soames leaned back in his chair rubbing his chin, "I suspect the radicals considered Downton a softer target, less well guarded, ergo, the bombs, and Slowther. Your little girl has sharp eyes Mr. Branson. She should get a medal."

Mary's head was bent over plans of the house as she sipped the tea. "Carson, what is this passage here?" She pointed to a faint stairwell.

Carson stepped over to examine the blue print. "That is a passage that was walled in years ago, when you were a little girl Lady Mary. At one time it was the access from the basement to the attic."

"According to this it goes up to the central tower?" She looked at Tom.

Tom looked over her shoulder, "It certainly looks that way to me. Where would the stair well start?"

Carson rubbed his chin. "The only current access to the attic is from the third floor. There is a faux wall panel kept locked unless a workman requires entry."

"Yet the stairwell begins in the basement." Mary pointed out the section of schematic.

"That would be the laundry room my lady. Before the remodel in 1870 it was the servant's hall.

Tom looked over to Soames. "Shall we check it out?"

"Might as well." Soames drained his tea.

Mary smiled as if she were riding in a hunt. "I want to come as well. I never knew my own home could be so exciting. Hidden passages, walled off doors, what's next a skeleton in a closet?"

Carson escorted them to the laundry room. The four of them searched and searched yet no entrance to the sealed off stairs could be found.

Finally Mary dropped her hands in exasperation, "Well is there entry or not? Surely repairs must be done. How are the workmen to get to it?"

Soames called for a torch, "I agree Lady Mary, and there should be a kick out panel, something to get to the stairs."

Tom felt a couple feet above the floor behind a rack of clothes where he found a frame of molding in the shape of a window. He knocked lightly hearing a hollow echo from the other side. "Found it!" He pushed slightly and the panel gave way. Carson was over his shoulder handing him a torch. Tom flashed the light onto a staircase little used and even more infrequently cleaned. Faint outlines of boot prints ran up the steps. Cobwebs and dust, debris and bits of mortar littered the stairs that spiraled up into a dark void.

Soames asked Carson to get an army team to meet them at the third floor access. He then followed Tom with Mary following him. The steps were shallow and narrow adding to the difficulty of climbing. The staircase went up in a sharp spiraling twist. Up, up they climbed, past the first and second floors, to the third.

As soon as they unlocked the landing door Tom clicked off the torch. He listened for the repeat of a sound he thought he had heard.

Then he heard again the unmistakable creak of a floor board from the darkness ahead. They were ten steps away from the tower attic. He turned to Soames and Mary with a finger pressed to his lips pulling McRyan's revolver from his jacket pocket. Another floorboard creaked.

Tom held a finger up and ahead.

Again the sound of movement ahead of them. Soames pulled his revolver.

Tom quietly padded up the remaining steps until he entered a low ceilinged room.

Weak shafts of moonlight shone through the sky lights at either end of the loft illuminating it in pale gray.

As his eyes adjusted Tom could see well enough to make out shapes of things stored or forgotten, an old brass bathtub, a torso for making women's dresses, trunks with stamps and stickers from ports of call ranging from Cairo to Marseilles, from Kiel to New York. Wooden crates were stacked against the walls to the rafters.

Too late Tom saw the silhouette of a man in an old rocking chair about six feet in front of him.

"Well, didn't know anyone would have found me, thought me little hideout quite the secret."

"Give it up Slowther. We found your bombs and the delegations are safe." Soames stepped beside Tom.

Tom hoped she had not, but Mary stepped around Soames to Tom's other side.

"You know what they say about gunfights, don't ye' Soames?" Slowther called back. "You got to be willing to use it." He fired.

Tom heard Soames fall hard to the floor. The detective's revolver dropped into the stairwell bouncing down the staircase.

Mary fell backward as Tom dragged her over a stack of scaffolding boards. "For God's sake stay down!" He shoved her head as he fired the revolver twice.

Slowther followed up with two quick shots.

Tom fired.

Both men kept it up until they had each shot six rounds.

"That's six Tom Branson. Were you counting?" Slowther called, standing up.

Tom crouched behind the scaffolding boards. Mary panted. Even in the wan light Tom could tell she was sweating from fear.

"Too bad for you, I win," Slowther crowed.

"Yeah well I'm guessing you've fired six as well." Tom called. He cursed himself for leaving the extra bullets on the table below.

Slowther stood up. "You traitorous bastard, you're not worth a bullet, think I'll just stick you like I did that worthless McRyan. Then slit the throat of your English woman. You see, we have to have a consolation prize. You may have saved the house, but she'll lose her head."

Tom checked his revolver then whispered to Mary. "My bluff is your only chance."

Slowther stepped around his cover flicking open a switch blade.

Tom whispered, "Once I point the gun at him you get away."

"I'm not leaving you." Mary reached for a short steel scaffolding bar.

"Do it. Besides, I don't feel like dying today." Tom kissed her then crawled over the scaffolding.

Tom stood opposite Slowther pointing his revolver at the man's belly.

When he saw the revolver in Tom's hand Slowther laughed. "What are you going to do, throw that at me?" He sneered.

Tom scoffed. "No, I'm going to shoot you. You see, McRyan carried a Russian pistol with seven shots." With that Tom cocked the hammer back to make his act look good. He saw Mary stepping around him out of the corner of his eye.

When the pistol roared Tom didn't expect it. It rose in his hand as the bullet hit Slowther in the shoulder.

Slowther dropped the knife collapsing into a pile in front of Tom.

Mary was shouting for Tom. "I'm o.k. Mary, check on Soames."

The sound of boots pounded up the stairs.

Tom turned to Slowther. The man tried to kneel but fell, unable to get up. "But, but I counted, I counted them." Slowther kept saying.

Mary rushed to Tom once the soldiers arrived to take Slowther into custody. She threw her arms around him "My god." After pressing her against him Tom gazed into her eyes, and brushed a hand over her face, "See, you aren't such a Black Widow after all."

##


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

A week later, in Downton's library the Irish Free State delegation signed agreements with the British Government for the orderly transfer of banking regulations, taxation duties, and trade functions for the Free State's new Departments of Lands and Agriculture, and Industry and Commerce. Downton's Dining room was transformed into a venue of equals as ministers from Ireland and Britain pledged peace and prosperity at a state dinner. Two extra seats were set around the table at Robert's insistence to honor the men who could not attend. Inspector Soames was still in hospital recovering from his wound. The other empty seat was for Major Miles William McRyan, Irish National Army whose flag draped coffin would be escorted home by the delegation.

As the first toast rang for the King in Ireland and the Irish Free State together the Irish delegation stood respectfully. The second toast was to the land of Ireland. But the third toast was made by Robert in honor of McRyan for his sacrifice in preserving his home and family. The head of the British delegation, Lord Colin Woldscold, then offered a toast to Tom and Lady Mary for their steadfastness in securing Downton and preserving the success of the talks. He had been severely wounded in the knee during the Great War and took a moment to stand. The Irish head of delegation offered the last toast to Lord Grantham for his help and assistance in offering his family home.

Slowther was treated for his wounds and after a lengthy trial was convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment. During the Second World War he escaped and somehow made his way to Germany. There he offered his services to the Nazis. A successful counter-intelligence plot by a past lover of Edith's succeeded in convincing the Gestapo that he was not to be trusted. In January of the last year of the war Slowther was unceremoniously shot by an SS firing squad for being a British spy.

But our story concerns Tom and Mary, no matter how interesting the lives of others later became.

A few days after the estate had been returned to normal Tom found himself at a luncheon with Isobel and Violet, where they double teamed him over the issue of the money McRyan had left to him.

Tom had just finished his plate, "Unfortunately I'll never know how he came by the money. He had a scofflaw's attitude about British regulations he felt unfair to Ireland, but I always thought his attitude was more about seeing how far he could stretch law than to break it." Tom accepted a cup of coffee from Moseley who had now found work as Violet's Butler.

"I thought that dear man made it clear he'd come to the money honest." Isobel said.

"So he said," Tom smirked, "Mick would say anything if it helped him or the cause he was fighting for."

"But he was dying Tom. What possible reason could he have for continuing on with a lie?" Violet insisted.

"That's true, but I'm not certain that I can accept tainted cash."

Violet chuckled, "Ah cousin, we have a scrupulous man in our midst." Violet glanced at Isobel then clammed up.

"Look, if I accept the money I'm as good as trafficking in contraband, no matter how much I donate to a worthy cause."

"But you don't know that do you?" Isobel offered. She paused to shift the conversation. "We have been mulling over a proposal to ask of you." She looked at Violet as if passing a baton.

"Dr. Clarkson informs me that there have been great leaps in something called pre-natal care for the expectant mother. Greater emphasis by the medical profession on the health of the mother and child she is carrying." Violet nodded to Isobel.

"The program, in America, which is a pet project of Mrs. Levinson, has reportedly reduced deaths in childbirth by 45% in New York alone."

"Imagine Tom, 'the Sybil Branson Pre-Natal Program." Violet glanced at Isobel, her signal to say nothing, to let Tom accept, digest, and process the implications of such a gift. Violet, in her wisdom, recognized her grandson in-law was grappling with saying a final goodbye to the one woman he could ever love enough to attempt to lasso the moon. Instead, she reached for his hand to squeeze it while gazing into his eyes with an empathetic look in her own, "Sometimes great good can come from such tragedy Tom. How is it said? 'Don't let the pure be the enemy of the good?'"

Tom tried to turn away so as to hide a swelling emotion but a solitary tear finally broke out to course down his cheek. When he turned back Isobel was dabbing her eyes. Even Gran was reaching for a handkerchief. "Well alright then, but we say nothing else to anyone until I've had the chance to speak to Mary."

#

When the Levinsons came to Britain Harold met his mother Martha at Plymouth in the prototype of a boat he was building. Low and sleek, with three powerful engines in the stern he sold them to the United States Coast Guard to intercept rum runners off the coast of the east and Florida. So fast were the boats rumors abounded that he sold them as well to bootleggers smuggling liquor into the States. But such accusations could never be proved. While in Britain he was going to show the boat off to the Royal Navy as a cost conscious alternative to the big Dreadnaughts and Cruisers still plying the seas. Martha and Harold telegraphed that they had arrived in Plymouth and should arrive at Downton in three days by hired auto.

Back at Downton, a picnic was in progress. Tom held Mary on a blanket as she leaned against him. They were on Overlook Hill. The hill he first asked Mary for her thoughts on how to pay the inheritance taxes on the estate. They had brought their children here to this spot to take advantage of a brilliant fall day. Below them Downton stood majestic, resplendent in its dominance over the countryside. Mary passed the telegram over her head to Tom. Sybbie was nearby picking a clutch of flowers while George explored the base of the oak tree nearby.

She leaned deeper into his chest as she sighed. Not a quick catch her breath sigh, more one of utter content. She smiled as she watched George lean on the tree. "I wish every day could be like this."

Tom kissed the back of her neck, "Well you're the Lady. All you'd have to do is say so and formal dinners would be a thing of the past."

"Tom Branson, how dare you attempt to corrupt me, besides, Carson wouldn't allow it. He'd say that that's one more standard going the way of the dinosaurs."

"You're saying you want to protect Carson from the ravages of modernity?" He chuckled.

"Precisely." Mary noticed George then, "Gosh he's really testing out those legs of his. When did he start walking?" She smiled, closed her eyes and sipped the wine letting the sun warm her face.

"I think he started when we were hosting the negotiations. Nanny says he started the night of the state dinner." He took a sip of his wine then nudged her, "I'm getting as dozy as you, sleepyhead."

Mary continued watching her son, "He's so fun to watch Tom, like he's afraid and excited all at once." She gave him one of her half smiles that he found so enigmatic. He would tell her in future years it was one of the things he loved about her, 'as mysterious as the Sphinx,' he would say.

Mary lifted a hand of his to her lips and kissed it, then wrapped it tighter around her.

Tom was about to say something when they both startled as George screamed from a combination fear and pain. Mary tried to stand but it was Tom who bolted, launching into a sprint.

George ran into Tom's arms burying his head into his neck. Sybbie ran to Mary as Tom carried George to the blanket. A quick look revealed a bee's stinger in George's arm. "Here we go my boy." Tom pried and scraped the stinger out then poured a bit of cool water on a clean rag to wrap around the little boy's arm.

"My poor darling," Mary stroked George's head as he turned in Tom's arms.

Sybbie petted George's head cooing "poor Geory." She kissed his arm as if it would make it better. Mary watched as Tom comforted her little boy all the while smiling inwardly. From up here on this hill her world was as secure as she had ever seen or felt it. She observed how the auburn and gold leaves shimmered in the trees around Downton. She watched the flags flying from the towers and then stared at Tom marveling at the comfort her little boy took from the man.

Within another quarter of an hour Sybbie and George had fallen asleep. Tom finally turned to discover she had been watching him. She smiled.

"What?" he smiled back.

She shook her head slightly, "Never let me forget what you mean to me." She said as she bowed her head.

#

The Levinson's may have been wealthy but they didn't act like they were. Harold was keen to extract every bit of value from everything he touched. Aunt Rosamond who had taken them to the Savoy and Rules felt scandalized that Martha and Harold asked for sacks to take the bones home from their steaks, "They thought cook could use them to help make a soup," Rosamond had told Mary when she pulled her niece aside for a quick chat after dinner the first night of their arrival.

Harold took an immediate liking to Tom as they both haggled over the finer points of the Rolls Royce engines versus the Palmer Brothers four cylinder. "You have to see my boat prototype," Harold insisted to Tom. "Come down to Plymouth and we'll get our hands and arms greasy up to our elbows, I'd like to know what you'd do to maximize horsepower."

"First, I need to show our garage man how to overhaul one of our tractor engines. But if you're insistent why not elongate your hull and use a V 12 engine. It might add more length but you could increase your power and speed from 25 knots to nearly 40 I would wager." Tom sketched his ideas out for Harold after dinner one night on an envelope.

When Harold and Robert both asked about fuel efficiency Tom waved away the concern, "That's the beauty of the arrangement; you might have three engines, but you can always cruise with just one and fire up the other two when you need them." Tom poured another glass of brandy for Harold and Robert.

Tom's father in law looked up from the notes and pointed an accusatory finger at Harold. "If you poach this young man away from me for one of your projects I shall foreclose on you," he said only half-joking.

One day toward the end of the visit Harold and Tom were in the middle of the overhaul of the tractor's engine when Tom asked Harold for advice on what to do about the extra cash leftover from McRyans's bequest.

"Well, the first thing I would do is set aside education money for Sybbie. A University education is the thing Sybil would have wanted for her you know."

"Already done," Tom was backing off the tension on a rocker arm over a cylinder.

"Then I'd take some of that cash and plug it into Miami Beach Real Estate."

"Florida right?"

"Correct, a man will make money in his sleep there. I can go in with you, make you a principal in a development pool. How much can you invest?"

"Oh about a quarter million."

Harold blew a long whistle. He stopped turning the wrench. He stared at Tom as if he were a Martian from a fiction story. "Just how wealthy are you? And why am I borrowing money from my brother in law?"

"I intend to marry someone; I don't want her thinking anything about me other than what's in her heart."

Harold slapped a greasy hand over Tom's shoulder. "Oh sorry, I think I've ruined your shirt. To see the way you and Mary look at each other I'm guessing I already know who she is."

"Nevertheless, I'd like to invest it."

"You want to diversify. You don't want to place the entire amount in land and hotels."

"I've already opened a brokerage account with a man in London."

"And?"

"I'm safe; I've invested in power companies, food, Steel, and Bonds."

"Good man. Sounds like you know your way around stocks and bonds as well as you do tractors and farms." Then Harold thought a bit, "Idle the engines until needed? Three V 12 engines? I really must ponder that."

##


End file.
